


A Degree to Love

by amycarey



Series: Love sought is good, but given unsought better [1]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, F/F, References to Shakespeare
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-16
Updated: 2014-03-12
Packaged: 2018-01-12 15:36:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 29,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1190472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amycarey/pseuds/amycarey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>“Emma Swan doesn’t even want to play Viola when Regina would kill for the role. She’s started blaming her audition piece; don’t audition as an evil queen if you want to play the naïve, cross-dressing ingénue.”</i>  </p><p>After a series of bad decisions in her short time on scholarship at Storybrooke Preparatory School, Emma is ‘encouraged’ to audition for Dr Hopper’s production of ‘Twelfth Night’ and is cast as Viola. Unfortunately, Regina Mills, who has been biding her time in second rate roles for the past three years, is not happy about this turn of events. High school production of Shakespeare AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. To hull here a little longer

“Miss Swan, what are we going to do with you?” Headmistress Blue looks at Emma with such profound disappointment that Emma can’t bring herself to meet her eyes, instead feigning fascination with her ragged nails. “You’ve been with us a month and this is the third time you’ve been in my office. Fighting, academic grades not up to scratch, anti-social behaviour.”

 

Emma shrugs.

 

“Your scholarship conditions are predicated on excellent academic results and behaviour, Miss Swan,” Blue continues. “If you go in front of the board, you will lose it.”

 

This makes Emma look up, body tense and panicked. “I can’t. Please.”

 

“You’re from the foster system, aren’t you?” the headmistress asks, and the look in her eyes is not unsympathetic, so Emma nods. “I’d like you to meet with Dr Hopper. He has a slot available now. He’ll help me to decide what is the best approach to take.”

 

Dr Hopper’s offices are next door, which doesn’t make Emma hold much hope for the prospect of confidential guidance. She’s seen him around before, geeky guy with glasses and a bow tie. Sometimes he brings his Dalmation, Pongo, to school and the younger kids go crazy for it. His smile is kind when he opens his door. “Emma, come in.”

 

She sits in the chair in front of his desk. Everything at Storybrooke Prep is fancy and it’s taken a lot of getting used to since she started in September. The chair is wide and cushioned and Emma feels herself enveloped in it.

 

“I’m just looking at your results from the scholarship exam,” he says. “Quite a brain you’ve got there, Emma.”

 

“Thanks,” she says. He’s got framed prints on his wall; there’s one of sunflowers in a vase that her eye is drawn to. She thinks it’s by Van Gogh, the guy who cut his ear off and then killed himself, which seems an odd choice of artist for a school counsellor but she likes it.

 

“So, what’s going on?” he asks, resting his elbows on his desk and staring at her intently.

 

“I don’t fit in here,” Emma says. Everyone at Storybrooke Prep has the right clothes and the right haircut and a car Daddy bought them for their sweet sixteenth and an innate sense of their place at the top of the social hierarchy.

 

“Why did you punch Mal?” he asks.

 

“I don’t want to talk about that,” Emma says. She doesn’t like many people at this school but Mal is the _worst_ , talking shit about everyone and especially Emma when she knows nothing about her, nothing about her life.

 

“Will it happen again?” Dr Hopper asks, his voice gentle.

 

“What I did or what she did?” Emma asks and Dr Hopper nods as though she’s made a fair point even though he doesn’t know what Mal did.

 

“Do you need help academically?” he asks.

 

“It’s just,” Emma says. “There’s a lot of catching up. I’ll get there. I’m smart.”

 

Dr Hopper smiles. “I don’t doubt that. Six high schools in three years, you must have gaps.” They sit in silence a while, Emma studying her nails. “I think we need more kids like you around, Emma Swan, so what I’m going to recommend is that you have weekly sessions with me until such time as they’re not needed. You will take on an academic mentor this semester. I am also going to suggest that you join an activity.”

 

“That’s not actually a suggestion, is it?”

 

He shakes his head. “You need people around you, a sense of community,” he says. “I’d like to recommend you audition for the school play. I’m directing and we’re doing _Twelfth Night_. The drama club kids are lovely, a bit off beat, perhaps less likely to make you feel uncomfortable.”

 

“Shakespeare?” Emma asks, raising her eyebrows.

 

“You know it?”

 

“Don’t look so surprised, sir. I have been to school before even if it was public school.”

 

“Well, what do you think?” he asks.

 

Emma sighs. She knows how lucky she is to be given this chance. “I think it’s a better alternative than my foster parents.”

 

“Great! Choose a monologue from any Shakespeare play to present. Auditions are on Wednesday. I’ll call for you on Friday during study hall,” he says, consulting her schedule, “for counselling and we’ll set you up with someone to mentor you.”

 

“I look forward to it,” Emma says and, grabbing her bag, she walks out. She heads down the pristine corridors, trailing a hand along the wooden panelling. She still gets a thrill at the beauty of this place. Back in her dorm room – seniors get single rooms, the better to focus on their studies, and it’s the first time in her life she hasn’t had to share with people – she kicks of her shoes, pulls off the teal school blazer and hangs it over her desk chair, loosens the black tie around her neck and turns on her laptop.

 

She’ll be damned if she embarrasses herself in front of the drama geeks at this school.

 

*

 

The auditions are tedious, Regina thinks. Too much ‘to be or not to be’ and ‘out damn spot’ from mostly untalented freshmen and sophomores who stumble over the language and declaim their words as though reading a speech rather than acting.

 

There are a few bright spots, the usual suspects. Graham plays lovesick Romeo to perfection and Ruby Lucas is a striking Titania. Both have been in every school production on offer and Regina knows Dr Hopper will be casting them again.

 

“This last girl,” Dr Hopper whispers. “Be kind, Regina.”

 

Regina sniffs.

 

She doesn’t think she’s seen this girl before. She’s skinny, underfed not fashionably, and has blonde hair tied back in a ratty ponytail. She seems ill at ease in her Storybrooke uniform, uncomfortable in centre stage, and Regina suspects this won’t take long.

 

“Hi, I’m Emma. I’ll be doing a monologue as Rosalind from _As You Like It_.”

 

One of the comedies. Brilliant. Regina sits back to cringe at every last unfunny moment.

 

Emma takes a deep breath and when she exhales there’s a kind of swagger in her stance and her walk. Her face hardens, takes on an expression of feigned nonchalance. “There is a man haunts the forest, that abuses our young plants with carving Rosalind on their barks; hangs odes upon hawthorns, and elegies on brambles; all, forsooth, deifying the name of Rosalind.”

 

Beside her, Doctor Hopper sits up. This Emma girl is so casually mocking of the invisible Orlando that Regina almost starts to feel bad for the guy. “A lean cheek, which you have not; a blue eye and sunken, which you have not; a beard neglected, which you have not…”

 

She’s not declaiming, which is a first. In places she speaks too quickly and she mispronounces ‘accoutrements’ embarrassingly, but, more than anything they’ve seen today Emma Swan is real.

 

Dr Hopper actually claps when Emma finishes and she flushes, the awkward school girl back, and says, “Yeah, okay,” and leaves out the side door.

 

“I think we’ve found our Viola,” Dr Hopper says and Regina feels a stab of anger because she wants Viola. She’s earned it, four years at this school, playing the second female lead, the plucky comic relief, the best friend, in every production since freshman year – Frenchy in _Grease_ , Hermia in _A Midsummer Night’s Dream_ , Liesl in _The Sound of Music_ … She’d auditioned first up with one of Tamora’s monologues from _Titus Andronicus_ and she’d rocked it.

 

“Surely Maria would be a better role for someone with her limited experience,” Regina says. She imagines what Cora will say – _If you insist on wasting your time with this acting business, I fail to see why you cannot be the best._

 

Dr Hopper sees through this. “Regina, you are perfect for Olivia,” he says. “We’ll do the musical next semester and I promise I'll pick something where the lead role plays to your strengths.”

 

Regina shrugs, though inside she’s burning up. “You’re the director, sir.”

 

*

 

Dr Hopper calls a meeting the next day for all students who auditioned to announce casting. Emma arrives late, having stayed behind to ask her statistics teacher a question, and finds the room full of unfamiliar faces. “Fresh meat,” a girl with red streaks in her hair that are definitely against uniform code mutters to the girl beside her who simply stares. She’s the girl who was present at the auditions, beautiful and terrifying. They’re in the same English Lit class and she intimidates the hell out of Emma because everything she says is on point and intelligent.

 

Emma almost turns around and walks out but Dr Hopper has arrived. “Excellent,” he says. “Take a seat, Emma.”

 

She sits.

 

“Now, I have the casting here. I’ll project it in just a moment. First though, for those of you who don’t know, Regina is going to be helping me direct this year, as well as acting.” The terrifying girl raises a hand, staring coolly around the room. “Kathryn is the stage manager.” The blonde girl on her other side smiles and waves at the group.

 

He turns on the screen and projects the list. Emma scrolls down for her name and is surprised to find herself disappointed when she doesn’t see it anywhere. She didn’t think her audition was _that_ bad.

 

“Hey, who’s Emma Swan?” a good looking boy asks. Emma raises her hand. “Nice work,” he says. She must look confused because he adds, “it’s not often that first time auditions get the lead role.”

 

She looks back at the screen and, sure enough, at the top next to ‘Viola’ is her name. She squints. Surely it’s a mix up. But when she blinks, it’s still there, her name beside the lead role. “Rehearsals are Fridays and Sundays so you’ll need to plan to be here on weekends for the next couple of months.” No one seems particularly bothered by this. The girl with the red streaks, whose uniform skirt is rolled over to display an startling amount of leg, gives Emma the thumbs up as she leaves.  

 

“Dr Hopper,” Emma says. “Can I talk to you?”

 

“Emma!” He’s so alarmingly cheerful, so happy to see people, that it scares her. “Congratulations. You’re going to be wonderful. Direct your questions to Regina.” And he’s gone.

 

The girl – Regina – remains, however. She’s small, a few inches shorter than Emma at least, with a river of dark hair held back by a teal Alice band that matches her uniform, full pouting lips and deep brown eyes that are currently staring at Emma with something like distain. She wears her uniform as though it’s a ball gown, shoulders back, chin high, and Emma knows she didn’t have to scrimp and budget for the designer satchel and leather oxfords on her feet. She’s standing at the door, impatiently. “I have class,” she says. “What do you need, Miss Swan?”

 

“It’s Emma,” Emma says. “I just, I think there’s been a mistake. I can’t play Viola.”

 

“My thoughts exactly,” Regina says and Emma feels a surge of nausea because this girl was at her audition, she saw her act and she has found her wanting. “Unfortunately, I am not in charge of casting.”

 

“Okay,” Emma says. “So can I, like, swap with someone?”

 

“No,” Regina says. “You could quit though.”

 

“I can’t,” Emma says, and she is embarrassed to hear the hint of desperation in her voice.

 

“Well,” Regina says, a cruel smile playing across her full lips. “I suggest you start learning your lines.” And she sweeps out of the room.


	2. The cruellest she alive

  **  
**

Kathryn’s waiting for her outside and they walk to English Lit together, Regina stewing. Emma Swan doesn’t even want to play Viola when Regina would kill for the role. She’s started blaming her audition piece; don’t audition as an evil queen if you want to play the naïve, cross-dressing ingénue. Of course Hopper found Swan’s turn as Rosalind so charming.

 

“You okay?” Kathryn asks as they settle down at their desks.

 

“Fine,” she snaps. She’s assessed her options overnight. She could drop out, but that would lose her the one thing she truly loves about school. And any way to make Swan look bad reflects back on her as assistant director. She’s screwed.

 

“Yeah, you seem fine,” Kathryn replies. “Is this about the play? I know you wanted Viola.”

 

The sympathy is almost too much to take. “Olivia is much more within my range,” she lies smoothly, getting out her books, and then that awful Swan girl enters the room. Regina doesn’t know how she hasn’t noticed her in this class before; it’s like every atom in her body is forming a collective protest when she sees her. She slides into a seat down the back of the room and Regina resists the urge to look back and sneer. _“A lady does not demean herself by acknowledging her opponents,”_ she hears her mother say.

 

Then Mr Gold’s at the front of the room, ready to start. They’re in the midst of discussing _Jane Eyre_ , which is Regina’s favourite novel of all time and she’ll be damned if Swan ruins it for her.

 

“So we were talking about post-colonialism and the treatment of the Other last week,” Gold says, grabbing his copy of the text from his briefcase. “This lesson I want us to think about Jane’s character, starting with how her experiences shape her.”

 

Kathryn raises a hand. Regina knows she always goes early because Gold has a tendency to call on people at random if discussion runs dry. If Kathryn’s already spoken early on when the points are straightforward she won’t be picked on later. “She uses the painful experiences of her childhood to become the best person she can be.”

 

“Okay, that’s our starting point,” Gold says. “Miss Mills?”

 

“Jane has limited choices,” Regina says. “A friendless, hopeless childhood, cruel teachers, religious extremism… All of these things are what end up making her such a good teacher of Adele and argue so strongly against children being born evil. She could have taken another path though. We are none of us born evil; we are just presented with choices.”

 

“So we think Jane defies the limitations of her childhood,” he says. “Miss Swan?” There’s a note of surprise in his voice because of course that awful girl never speaks in class and Gold doesn’t bother to pick on someone so obviously out of her depth.

 

“But Jane only falls for Rochester because she has had so little love in her life until that point,” Swan says. “Her childhood makes her vulnerable to an abusive man.”

 

“He loves her,” Regina says. “Does that count for nothing?” She’s not convinced by Rochester either, but she cannot allow Swan to be right.

 

“He’s emotionally abusive,” Swan replies. “He lies, patronises her and exerts his power as her employer over her.”

 

“I think he’s romantic,” Mal – who Regina privately thinks is vapid – says.

 

“You would,” Swan mutters under her breath and Regina has to fight the urge to smile.

 

“I think we’re getting off track,” Gold says. “Essay due on Monday, five pages. You have today’s lesson to discuss and plan your response. _Is Jane Eyre a victim or the master of her own destiny?_ ”

 

Regina takes the question down and turns to find Kathryn looking at her, desperation etched into her skin. “Help,” she whispers. Kathryn’s in English Lit by necessity, rather than choice. One day she will run her father’s businesses, which doesn’t require her to know the ins and outs of classic literature.

 

“It’s easy,” Regina says. “Go back to your notes on characterisation. Pick a side and stick to it. I’ll check your plan when you’re done.” She flicks a glance to the back of the room, where Emma Swan is scribbling furiously, her battered copy of the novel perched precariously on the edge of the desk.

 

Sighing, Regina opens her notebook and starts to brainstorm.

 

*

 

Emma gets a copy of the script from Dr Hopper at their session that day. “Why?” she asks him, not looking at him but at her feet. Her uniform shoes are already scuffed, the perils of only being able to afford cheap shoes, and she kicks her feet against the chair leg, beating out a rhythm.

 

“Because you were the best audition for the role,” he says. “You’ve got a talent, Emma.”

 

“I think Regina Mills would be a better choice,” Emma says as politely as she can.

 

Dr Hopper laughs. “Can you see Regina pretending to be a boy?” he asks. Emma thinks of Regina and sees his point. She is inescapably female. “The role of Olivia is made for her.”

 

“Are you sure that’s not Lady Macbeth?” Emma asks and Dr Hopper laughs again.

 

“Now, are you ready to talk about the issue with Mal?” Dr Hopper asks.

 

“She’s just… it’s all bitchy girl stuff. Nothing I can’t handle,” she says, which is true. “I won’t punch anyone again.”

 

“Whenever you’re ready to talk I’ll be here,” Dr Hopper says. “Now, speaking of Regina, I think I’ve found you an academic mentor.” There’s a knock at the door and Regina Mills enters, takes one look at Emma and looks set to turn on her heel and leave. Emma’s heart drops. “Ah, Regina. Sit down.”

 

After a moment’s hesitation, Regina takes a seat in the spare chair. “I have a lot of homework to get through before rehearsal, sir,” she says.

 

“Emma here needs some support with her studies,” he says. “Since you signed up for the mentoring programme last year and were not placed I thought you could take her on.”

 

“I was anticipating a freshman,” Regina says. “Not someone who’s in half my classes.” They actually only have Lit together, but Emma’s pretty sure Regina never noticed her until today. On the whole, she’d rather not be noticed by someone like Regina.

 

“It wouldn’t be the whole year,” Dr Hopper says. “Emma just needs some time to adjust to Storybrooke Prep.”

 

“If her academics are suffering,” Regina says, examining a perfectly rounded nail, “perhaps she shouldn’t be taking on the responsibility of Viola.”

 

“ _She_ is right here,” Emma says, irritated, “and she’s not deaf.”

 

“What do you need help with?” Regina asks.

 

“I just need a bit of time to catch up,” Emma says.  

 

“So all your subjects,” she says. “Schedule?” Emma hands her schedule over. “Well, I can help with Chemistry, Musical Theory, Statistics and English Lit. You’ll need someone else for Art History. I take it you won’t need help in Gym and Drama. We’ll meet on Saturday mornings in the library, starting tomorrow.”

 

“Okay,” Emma says. “Don’t you go home on weekends?”

 

“We have rehearsals,” Regina says, as though talking to a small, very dumb child.

 

“Right.”

 

“Thank you, Regina,” Dr Hopper says, a smile playing across his lips. “See you soon.”

 

“Quite,” she says and leaves.

 

“Well, that’s going to be awesome fun,” Emma says.

 

“Regina’s bark is worse than her bite,” Dr Hopper says.

 

“I’m not worried about her _bite_ ,” Emma replies.

 

She leaves his office and finds Regina in the hallway deep in conversation. “Yes, Mother. Yes. I understand you’re disappointed.” She sees Emma and glares. “We agreed that my theatre will give me an edge for Harvard.”

 

Emma’s reluctant to move on. Regina is so incredibly tense, her voice clipped and her hand around the phone is white. “I have academic mentoring on Saturday, some new girl needs help.”

 

“You okay?” Emma mouths and Regina shoos her away with her free hand, glaring fiercely.

 

*

 

“Nosy cow,” Regina says, wearing a path into Kathryn’s dorm room carpet.

 

Kathryn looks up from her Calculus text book. “Lingering in a corridor for a moment is hardly a capital offence,” she says. “Sit down.”

 

Regina ignores her. “As if I didn’t have to spend Friday and Sunday with the girl, now my Saturday mornings are going to be taken up with mentoring her.”

 

“College transcripts,” Kathryn reminds her. “Besides, this could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”

 

Regina flops onto the floral duvet. “I hate her,” she mutters.

 

“No you don’t,” Kathryn replies calmly. “You barely know the poor girl. She doesn’t deserve your Evil Queen act.”

 

Regina rolls her eyes. “I hate it when you call me that.”

 

“Stop pretending you’re Lady Macbeth then. If I hadn’t been listening to you, I would have thought you were all ‘unsex me now’.” She looks over at Regina. “I like your boots.”

 

Regina looks at her feet. They’re Italian leather, dark brown and still as shiny as the day she got them. They were a gift from her father when he read her school report from last semester. “Stop trying to distract me from my rage.”

 

“Stop trying to distract me from my calculus,” Kathryn replies.

 

Regina looks at her phone, checks Facebook and her emails and then, checking the time, says, “rehearsal?”

 

“One moment,” Kathryn says, jotting down a final note. “Okay, let’s go.” The performing arts centre is empty. Regina likes to get there early, soak up the energy of the space and calm down. Dr Hopper suggested she meditate or do yoga in sophomore year to control her anger during a particularly dark period (she’d broken an ornament in his office after he said that and now admits he might have had a point) but being in the centre does a much better job that that airy fairy rubbish.

 

“How’s your lit essay?” she asks Kathryn, who groans.

 

“Don’t even ask. It figures that my one weak subject is taught by the harshest teacher at this place. I’ll get it done.” Gold’s renowned for not giving an inch on his marking. His is the only class Regina has ever gained less than an A – unless we’re including Gym, which Regina doesn’t.

 

“If you finish it before Sunday rehearsals, I’ll check it for you,” she offers. They start setting up chairs in a circle on the stage, well aware of Dr Hopper’s routine.

 

People start to file in. Kathryn’s boyfriend, David, wraps an arm around her shoulder, nodding ‘hello’ to Regina. She tries so hard to like him; he’s a fundamentally decent person but he’s also dull. Ruby, on the other hand, is not boring. They don't wear uniform to rehearsal and Ruby pushes this to its limits, knowing Dr Hopper will never say anything about it. Today it’s hot pants and fishnet stockings.

 

“Babe,” she says, wrapping an arm across Regina’s shoulder, mimicking the happy couple and Regina tries desperately not to snort with laughter. A lady does not snort. It is undignified. She notices that Swan sits across the circle, waved over by Mary Margaret Blanchard and her crew of do-gooders. Next thing, she’ll be joining the school Christian group and learning to cross-stitch. A fitting fate.

 

Dr Hopper arrives, hands out copies of the play. Emma already has one, she notices. Regina avoided picking up a script early, didn’t want to remind herself of how much more stage time Viola has over Olivia. “Right,” he says. “We’ll start with a read through, acts one and two tonight and the rest on Sunday. First, can we all introduce ourselves?”

 

He starts. “I’m Dr Hopper. I’m the school counsellor and director of all school productions.”

 

“Ruby, Scorpio, I like Pina Coladas…” Dr Hopper shoots her a disappointed look. “Sorry, Doc. I’m a senior and I’ll be playing Feste, the fool.”

 

“Regina. Senior. Assistant director and playing Olivia.”

 

David’s playing Sebastian (Regina supposes she can see enough of a resemblance between him and Swan and shudders to think who might have been cast as her Sebastian), with Mary Margaret as the loyal Antonio. Regina can’t help but think this is a mistake. Mary Margaret is embarrassingly in love with David and close proximity can’t be good for that. Graham’s Orsino, of course. He does good lovesick hero.

 

“I’m Emma,” Swan says. “I’ll be playing Viola.” She’s in street clothes like the rest of them, well-worn skinny jeans, knock-off converse sneakers and a zip-up hoodie. Cheap fabrics. How on earth is this girl even at Storybrooke?

 

*

 

“Right, now we all know each other,” Dr Hopper says. “We’ll be going for a more modern setting. We’ve got Ashley on costumes so she’ll come to you when she’s ready.”

 

Emma doesn’t know who Ashley is Ruby looks stoked so she must be good. Emma’s sitting with a girl, Mary Margaret, who’s the first person at this whole school to look pleased to see her. She’s a junior, which Emma supposes explains why she’s not met her before.

 

“Right,” Dr Hopper says. “We’ll read through. Have a pencil handy to make any initial notes, pronunciation reminders and so forth.”

 

It starts well; Graham hams up Orsino’s opening lines, sighing and moaning. “If music be the food of love, play on!”

 

“Hmmm,” Dr Hopper says. “Perhaps not _quite_ so animated.”

 

Emma feels sick at her first lines, reading them against a sophomore, August, whose delivery as the sea captain is pretty wooden. She mispronounces ‘Elysium’ and wants the ground to swallow her up when Dr Hopper corrects her. She chances a glance at Regina whose upper lip curls. She knows she’s just proving Regina right. It goes better in scene four, playing against Graham whose own animation sparks hers.

 

“Right-o,” Dr Hopper says. “Scene five’s the big one.”

 

“Take the fool away,” Regina says and there’s a shift in her posture and the way she holds her face changes. Olivia’s in mourning, Emma remembers, and even in a line reading, Emma can tell. She’s entranced at the back and forth between the characters, particularly Ruby and Regina.

 

“Ahem, Viola,” Dr Hopper says.

 

She shakes her head. “Sorry.” Regina’s looking at her like she can’t believe what an idiot she is. “The honourable lady of the house, which is she?”

 

“Speak to me; I shall answer for her. Your will?”

 

And they’re away. It’s not hard to declare Regina a “most radiant, exquisite and unmatched beauty”.  As the dialogue continues, Regina’s voice lowers, becoming husky and seductive, a woman falling desperately into lust, and Emma’s drawn in, playing the apprehensive Viola, anxious to appear a boy.

 

Ruby claps at the end of their dialogue. “Almost makes you wish the play ended differently,” she says, grinning over at Emma.

 

Emma’s shaken, out of her depth. Fortunately, they have no scenes together in Act Two and Emma gets to feel less hopelessly terrible.

 

“Excellent work, guys,” Dr Hopper says. “I’m really excited about this. Sunday at twelve.” They leave the chairs and Emma leaves rehearsal with Mary Margaret.

 

“Do you want to get lunch tomorrow?” she asks. “Granny’s diner in town is pretty good.” Juniors and seniors have a lot of freedom on the weekends if they’re staying on campus and can leave the school as long as they don’t behave in a way that reflects poorly on the school.

 

“Sounds good,” Emma says, smiling. Regina and Kathryn brush past, Regina muttering furiously to her friend and Kathryn trying to hold back laughter.


	3. This is very midsummer madness

Regina’s early to the library the next morning, both due to her impeccable timing and also because she wants to get, and retain, the upper hand in this ‘mentoring’ scenario. Unfortunately, Swan’s already there.

 

“Hi,” she says, pulling her ear buds out of her ears, when Regina stops in front of the large, wooden table Swan’s claimed as her own. The girl has every text book known to man spread in front of her and seems to be writing an essay and working out redox calculations at the same time.

 

Regina sits across from her. “Academic success rule one,” she says. “Focus on one thing at a time.”

 

“I’ve always worked this way,” Swan says. She’s got blue pen smudged down the side of her hand.

 

“And you need academic mentoring, why?”

 

Swan rolls her eyes. “Okay, mentor away.”

 

Regina leans back in her chair, crosses her legs and smiles. “Make lists,” she says. “Rank things from most to least important and work through them sequentially. Cross them off when you’re done. Take a break every hour for ten minutes but otherwise work solidly without distractions. Turn off your wi-fi. Only listen to Baroque music, nothing you can hum or sing along to.”

 

“You cannot be for real,” Swan says, raising her eyebrows. Regina can hear tinny rock music blasting from the speakers.

 

“There have been studies done,” Regina says.

 

“I’m sure there have been,” Swan mutters. “So how does this whole thing work?”

 

“I did a seminar at the end of last semester,” Regina says. “Of course, I did think I would be paired with a freshman. I’m here to help with any classwork you’re having issues with.”

 

“Okay,” she replies.

 

“How are you getting on with Gold’s essay?” Regina asks.

 

“Mostly done,” Swan says. “Just edits to go.”

 

“Do you need it proofed?”

 

“I’m sweet with Lit,” Swan says. “Chemistry, on the other hand, is killing my soul.”

 

“Redox?” Regina asks and Swan nods. “It’s unbelievably simple. Even an idiot could do it.” Swan rolls her eyes but doesn’t rise to the bait, which Regina finds she respects. “Pass your book over…” She spends the next forty five minutes teaching Swan the subject.

 

“Is this right?” Swan asks, passing over her book.

 

“By George, I think she’s got it,” Regina says.

 

“Har har,” Swan says. “Does the rain in Spain fall mainly on the plain?” Regina’s lips quirk into a smile in spite of herself. Light shines through the library windows, sunlight glinting against Swan’s golden hair, tied back into a ponytail. “Hey, seriously though, thanks,” Swan says. “You’re a pretty good teacher.”

 

Regina frowns. She used to play at being a teacher when she was a kid, line up all her dolls and teach them the alphabet and how to add basic sums. Her father had made her little tests to grades and she’d write comments in red ink, faltering letters saying _Great work_ or _You need to work on your spelling_ or _Try harder next time_.

 

“Hey,” Swan says hesitantly, when Regina is silent. “If Saturdays don’t work for you, I can fit in with your–”

 

“Saturdays are fine,” Regina says, cutting her off. “Where are you at with musical theory?”

 

*

 

Emma meets Mary Margaret Blanchard at the school gates and they make the short walk into the Storybrooke Township. Emma likes Mary Margaret. There’s something calming about her. Perhaps it’s the religion? Mary Margaret hasn’t mentioned it but she wears a big silver cross whenever she’s not in uniform so Emma’s put two and two together and come up with Christian. Emma’s never had much time for it personally, but she can see the appeal.

 

“How long have you been acting?” Mary Margaret asks, biting into her burger and just about moaning. “God, that’s good.”

 

Emma wipes a squirt of ketchup off her chin. After weeks of school dinners, wonderful, greasy, junk food is amazing. “Never have before,” she says. “Dr Hopper told me to audition so I did.”

 

“So that’s why Regina looked like murder,” Mary Margaret says. “Everyone knows she wanted the lead.”

 

“Just my luck,” Emma says. “She’s pretty intense though. It’s not just me?”

 

“No,” Mary Margaret says. “She’s terrifying. She gets on well with her group though, Kathryn and Graham and David.” She sighs after she says David. Emma suspects there’s a story there but she’s never been one for moments of emotional sharing – there’s always the feeling that you should share back and Emma’s never been much good at that.

 

“What’s her deal?”

 

Mary Margaret shrugs. “I’ve never had much to do with her. She’s an only child and she’s really driven. Parents are loaded.”

 

“Must be nice,” Emma says and then remembers she’s talking to someone whose parents can afford the insane prices for Storybrooke Prep, perhaps not her target audience for snide comments about money.

 

“You’re here on scholarship, aren’t you?” Mary Margaret asks and Emma, reluctantly, nods. “You must be really smart,” she says. “It’s real hard to get a scholarship here, and they _never_ go to seniors.”

 

They continue chatting, about the play and classwork. Mary Margaret’s really into history and government (“I love politics”), but she’s struggling with her math requirement. Emma talks up her English skills but doesn’t tell her that Regina’s mentoring her, she’s not sure why, except that it’s a bit embarrassing.

 

By the end of lunch, Mary Margaret’s declaring them friends and it’s nice and simple and the way Emma feels, in her limited experience, it should be.

 

*

 

Sunday’s rehearsal begins late because Killian, Neal and Graham find the props cupboard key and insist on sword fighting. “It’s totally play-related,” Killian says. “Sir Andrew has a duel in act three.”

 

“A terrible one,” Regina responds, glaring at the two boys. “So, yes, you’re doing perfectly.” Killian has the audacity to look offended. “Can we please start rehearsals?” Dr Hopper’s running late, but Regina has better things to do than muck around. “We’re reading through act three.”

 

Ruby and Swan work well together, riffing effortlessly off each other at the beginning of the scene. And then it’s Regina’s turn. She vamps it up, increasing the natural huskiness of her voice and finds she enjoys the panic on Swan’s face when she purrs, “I prithee, tell me what thou thinkest of me.”

 

Perhaps playing Olivia isn’t so terrible. 

 

“Seriously,” Ruby says at the end of the scene. “Viola and Olivia need to end up together. Am I the only person who sees this?” Graham of all people is nodding in agreement and Regina sees the flash of fear in Swan’s eyes.

 

“Ruby,” Regina says, warning in her voice. Dr Hopper arrives and rehearsal continues. Regina has time, all those scenes in which she does not appear, to watch Swan who is, she reluctantly acknowledges, holding her own against the much more experienced boys. The sword-fighting scene will be comic genius if staged appropriately.

 

“We’ll be splitting rehearsals over the next few weeks,” Dr Hopper says, handing out schedules. “Regina will be taking charge of a few scenes.” Regina scans the paper and, yes! She’s in charge of the duels.

 

“That wasn’t so bad,” Kathryn says as they walk back to the dormitories. “This could be our best Shakespeare yet.”

 

Regina shrugs. “Olivia’s not such an awful role,” she says.

 

“You love it,” Kathryn says, nudging her side with her elbow. “You get to vamp and flirt and play the not-so-repressed lesbian. It’s so very you.” Regina looks anxiously around but they’re quite alone. Kathryn’s the only person at school who knows about Regina and that's only because of too many tequila shots at a party over the summer (the only time Regina’s ever got drunk) and Regina throwing up her guts and sobbing about Daniella, her erstwhile Biology tutor who Cora had just fired for kissing Regina.

 

She shakes her head, trying to rid her mind of the scene playing out.

 

Kathryn pulls a face, attempting to drag Regina out of her brooding. “Hey, I’m grabbing dinner in the dining hall with David in an hour. Want to join?”

 

“I’ve got a lot of work to do,” Regina says. She still has to proofread her essay for Gold and cram in a bit more study for her Physics quiz tomorrow.

 

“You can’t survive on protein bars alone,” Kathryn says. “I worry, dear.”

 

“Well, don’t,” Regina says shortly. “I’m fine. I just lost a couple of hours on Saturday because of mentoring.”

 

Kathryn rolls her eyes. “You’re never going to stop resenting Emma for _something_ , are you?” Regina just shrugs.

 

The week’s a blur of assessment, late nights over her text book and learning her lines. On Thursday, Gold hands back their essays. “Disappointing,” he says and Regina feels the sick dread clasping her heart. “A couple of notable exceptions but on the whole there is considerable work to be done.” He circulates the classroom, handing out papers.

 

Kathryn breathes out when she receives her essay and Regina sees the red, circled 'B' in the corner and is happy for her.

 

“Unorthodox, Miss Swan,” she hears Gold say. Regina smirks. Of course Swan doesn’t know how to write an argument. Her own paper comes facedown and she flicks up a corner, sees the 'A' emblazoned on it and takes a second to grin, feeling smug and elated. _Well-structured argument, supported by ample evidence_ , Gold has written.

 

She looks over at Emma, ready to lord it over her but Emma’s looking at her own paper in disbelief, a vacant grin on her lips. She’s happy. Regina leans back in her chair, stretches and squints. 'A+' _._

 

“Well done, Miss Swan,” she says as they leave the classroom. “How did you coax that out of Gold?”

 

Swan looks irritated. “Is it too much to hope that my grades could be private?”

 

Regina shrugs. “There are no secrets at Storybrooke Prep.”

 

“Terrifying thought,” Swan says. “See you Friday.”

 

“See you then, dear,” Regina says automatically before remembering that she dislikes Swan and pulling her lips into a sneer.

 

Swan has the audacity to grin. “Softie,” she says.

 

*

 

It’s Sunday afternoon and they’re rehearsing Viola’s aborted fight with Sir Andrew. It’s Emma, Killian, Mary Margaret, Neal (the junior who’s playing Sir Toby) and Regina directing with the rest of the cast taking a break. Regina’s not impressed, Emma can tell by the way her eyebrows knit together and her lips are pursed in a rosebud shape.

 

Friday’s rehearsal had been uneventful, as had Saturday’s mentoring session, which mostly involved Regina making what she seemed to think were subtle jabs at Emma’s academic ability and Emma desperately attempting to not engage.

 

“It’s just not funny,” Regina says. “This should be the comedic centrepiece of the play.”

 

Killian shrugs. “We’re doing our best.”

 

“No,” Regina says. “Miss Swan’s doing her best." This is forced out of her and she curls her lip at the praise. "You’re taking it too seriously. Sir Andrew should be incompetent.”

 

“Regina, I do fencing,” Killian says. “You can’t just turn that talent off.”

 

Emma watches this play-by-play, amusement etched into her features. Her smile fades, however, when Regina grabs Killian’s sword and turns on Emma. “I’ll have to show you. Come on, Miss Swan.”

 

Emma is shocked for a moment but rallies. At least the swords aren't even close to being real. She doesn't entirely trust that Regina wouldn't attack her for real. They play out the scene again and this time it sparkles. Regina mimics Killian; it’s a cruel, pitch-perfect parody of his acting style that nonetheless is better than what Killian’s been doing all this while. It makes Emma better. She doesn’t know how to use a sword except to ‘stick ‘em with the pointy end’ but that works for Viola. Neal practically giggles when she whispers her aside to the audience: “Pray God defend me! A little thing would make me tell them how much I lack of a man.”

 

“Pray God he keeps his oath,” Regina says, holding up her sword and it is shaking in her hand so dramatically she almost drops it.

 

“I do assure you, ‘tis against my will,” Emma replies and draws her own sword. Regina takes a moment to look at each sword, gesturing as though to measure each, and looks horrified when she realises that Emma’s is bigger. Emma fights a smirk and fails.

 

And they fight, playing up the reluctance and discomfort of the scene and it becomes more and more ridiculous, Regina whacking herself in the shin and Emma swinging the wooden sword wildly over her head as though it were a lasso. 

 

And then they spar, Emma beating Regina backwards and Regina trips over a cord and pulls Emma down with her. Emma can hear Neal and Killian howling with laughter but it’s white noise because she is sprawled on top of Regina, their bodies pressing together. Emma realises she has a hand on Regina’s stomach where her shirt has ridden up, the skin warm and taut. Regina’s knee is skirting the inside of Emma’s thigh with only their black leggings between them.

 

Regina’s face is flushed and her hair is starting to fly loose of its ponytail. Her mouth is slightly ajar and Emma can feel the quickening of her heart beat as her chest rises and falls.

 

Interesting.

 

“Uh, ladies?” Killian says and Emma leaps up like she’s been burnt. Regina sits up, pulling her blue plaid shirt down though not before Emma sees a flash of the olive skin of her stomach. Pink still stains her cheeks. “Do we get the idea?” she asks.

 

Emma nods, not trusting her voice at that moment. Regina takes Killian through his blocking, reading Viola’s lines but this time she doesn’t act. It’s a pity. Emma would love to see her take on Viola.

 

Regina leaves rehearsal before Emma can talk to her, her posture stiff and forbidding. Emma contemplates running after her but by the time she’s made the decision Regina is long gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the positive response so far!


	4. I am sure care's an enemy to life

Regina finds herself outside Kathryn’s dorm room, hesitating before knocking sharply. Kathryn takes her time and when she appears at the door, her clothing is rumpled and David is still pulling a shirt on. “Perfect timing as ever, dear,” Kathryn says and then sees Regina’s face. “Hon, can you give us some time?”

 

David, to his credit, doesn’t complain, just grabs his sweater and leaves. Regina sits gingerly at Kathryn’s desk. “Your shirt’s misbuttoned,” she tells her.

 

Kathryn grins from where she is lounging on the bed. “First non-rehearsal weekend for both of us; can you blame me?”

 

“You should be careful,” Regina says, fidgeting with the edge of her shirt. “This isn’t college. There'll be trouble if you're caught with a boy in your room.”

 

“What’s up?” Kathryn asks, grabbing a bottle of purple, glittery nail polish and starting to paint her toe nails.

 

Regina sighs. “I don’t think I totally hate Swan anymore,” she says. The skin of her stomach still feels like she’s been bruised, like the fingerprints are etched into her skin.

 

“And this is a bad thing?” Kathryn asks, raising an eyebrow.

 

Regina shrugs. “I guess not.”

 

“Do you think Emma’s gay?” Kathryn asks.

 

Regina glares, the expression that terrifies most of her classmates and, to be honest, her teachers, but apparently has no impact on her best friend. “Why would I care?”

 

“Because you totally like her,” Kathryn says. “And if she’s gay, this will be really funny but if she’s straight it’s just depressing.”

 

“You are a terrible friend,” Regina says.

 

“We deserve each other,” Kathryn says and Regina throws a pillow at her.

 

Back in her dorm room, Regina’s phone has three missed calls, all from home.

 

“Regina, it’s your mother. I have organised a dinner on Friday night, dear. I expect you to be there. I have cleared it with the headmistress. Call me back.”

 

“Regina Mills, I fail to understand why you cannot return my phone call.”

 

“Regina, mi corazon.” Her father’s voice this time. “Call your mother when you get this. Love you.”

 

Sighing, Regina takes a moment before dialling, calming herself down, getting herself ready to deal with whatever it is her mother has planned.

 

*

 

Next Friday’s rehearsal is just Ruby, Emma and Graham. Ordinarily, Regina would be there as assistant director but she’s given her apologies to Dr Hopper, something about a family dinner. Rehearsal goes well and Emma enjoys spending time with Ruby and Graham, though the pair have so many in-jokes it can be hard to keep up.

 

Ruby’s learning the chords for the song she has to sing on the ukulele. “Ugh, this is stupid,” she says. “I can’t keep this horrible instrument in tune.”

 

“Do you have a guitar?” Emma asks.

 

“Yeah, but ukuleles are funnier,” Ruby says, strumming a few notes and grimacing.

 

“True.”

 

“Maybe it can be deliberately terrible?” Graham suggests.

 

“I’m far too vain for that,” Ruby replies and Graham laughs and nods.

 

Emma’s not sure if she’ll see Regina at mentoring but when she arrives at the library, Regina’s there already, typing at her Macbook (that Emma covets). She looks tired, dark circles shadowing her eyes. “Apologies,” she says. “US History assignment.”

 

“No worries,” Emma says. “You know, we can just skip it this week if you’re busy.”

 

Regina hesitates a moment, a ‘yes’ forming on her lips, but shakes her head. “You need all the help you can get, Swan.”

 

“Cheers, thanks so much,” Emma says. “I got a B+ in my latest chemistry quiz, I’ll have you know.”

 

“Good,” Regina says, eyes still on her laptop screen. “Not good enough for Harvard though, dear.”

 

Emma raises an eyebrow. “Um, I’m not aiming for Harvard?”

 

Regina grimaces. “I think I just turned into my mother.”

 

“Bad night last night?” Emma asks.

 

“We had a dinner,” Regina says. “My mother invited an old friend from her days as an intern – and his son, who is a sophomore at Harvard. Very handsome, future state senator, a good connection to have.” Her upper lip curls.

 

“Well,” Emma says. “I guess she’s looking out for your future. I’ve never had that. Must be nice.”

 

“Yes, nice,” Regina says, but she’s distracted again and Emma knows she’s said the wrong thing but she’s not quite sure why. “Now, where’s your list?”

 

Emma finds a scrap of paper. “Here you go.”

 

Regina takes the paper between two fingers. “Musical Theory homework. Shall I check it?”

 

“It’s an essay,” Emma says, handing it over. “I’ve drafted.”

 

“By hand. How… quaint.”

 

“I’m not used to having a computer,” Emma says. “It was part of my scholarship package.”

 

“You’re on a scholarship?” Regina asks.

 

Emma pulls a face. “Seriously? You didn’t know?”

 

“I don’t spend a lot of time thinking about you,” Regina replies loftily, though her cheeks flush ever so slightly and devotes all her attention to the essay, scribbling marks down the side as she goes. Emma takes the time to observe Regina, dark hair that looks like it would curl if it wasn’t so long, the weight of it holding it down, brown eyes currently hooded by thick, dark lashes, the scar just on her lip that Emma wouldn’t mind kissing…

 

Emma shakes her head, feels warm, shifts in her seat. Regina looks up. “Could you maybe not fidget for thirty seconds, Swan?”

 

Ah, that’s why she’s never going to kiss her because Regina’s a total dickhead.

 

She leans back on her chair, looks around and spots Mal and her posse of girls coming towards them. “Take a bit more care with the furniture, Miss Swan. _My_ parents pay for it through my fees.”

 

Emma clenches her fists until they’re white and ignores her. Mal continues to needle, turning to a friend and saying, “it’s people on hand-outs who give this school a bad reputation.” Breathe, Emma. In, out, in, out. Punching people solves nothing.

 

Regina looks up at her at this comment and she’s smiling. There’s something feral about it and Emma’s a little afraid. “Mal, dear. Go and bother someone else.”

 

“I’m surprised you’re hanging out with her, Regina,” Mal says. “You know she’s trash. My father says she’s been kicked out of six foster homes.” Emma’s whole body is tensed, jaw clenched so hard she’s shaking. That’s private information. It kills her that Mal knows.

 

“I think I understand now why Emma punched you in the face,” Regina muses. “I kind of want to myself.”

 

Mal flicks her blonde hair over her shoulder. “Go ahead. I’d love to go to Blue and tell her Swan incited a fight.”

 

She thinks Regina is counting to ten. It doesn’t seem to be working. “Who has the impeccable reputation with Blue? Whose mother donates sizably to this school each year? Whose father hasn’t been breeching the confidentiality of his position on the school board?” Her voice is low and dangerous. “It is so very easy to hurt people when you hold all the cards.”

 

Mal considers for a moment, an ugly look passing over her face, sneers at Emma and then turns on her heel and leaves. Regina turns back to the essay, passing it over to Emma. “It’s decent. You need to refer to secondary sources for a higher grade.”

 

“Thanks,” Emma says. “For that.” She smiles at Regina, the gesture feeling unfamiliar and hesitant.

 

“Yes, well,” Regina says. “I think we’re done here.” She packs up and leaves.

 

*

“Wow,” Kathryn says, over coffees at Granny’s. Regina’s dragged her into town, has bought them coffee and fries. “You went totally white knight for her. You are so smitten.”

 

“Don’t be crass,” Regina says. “I am not _smitten_ with Emma. Horrifying thought.” Unbidden, an image of Emma smiling crosses Regina’s mind, all generous mouth and hazel eyes crinkling at the corners. She remembers the feel of Emma’s body against hers and has to fight to supress the smile that threatens to edge its way onto her face.

 

“You called her Emma,” Kathryn crows. “You are so gone.”

 

“Oh shut up,” Regina says. She still feels coiled, tense, angry, after her encounter with Mal. Breathing exercises just aren’t cutting it. “I just really dislike Mal.”

 

“That’s shit though,” Kathryn says, more seriously. “Poor Em.”

 

“Mal’s an insipid little social climber,” Regina says shortly.

 

“Hey, I forgot to ask,” Kathryn says. “How was dinner?”

 

Regina grimaces. “It was a set up.”

 

“But your mother knows…” Kathryn starts, in the voice of someone whose parents have supported every choice she’s ever made.

 

“About my little ‘alternative phase’?” Regina says. “It’s not sustainable in the long term, apparently, not if I want to get into law and later politics. The doctor wasn’t too bad but the son…” She remembers the clammy handshake, the curl of brown hair gelled back from his forehead, the toothy smile.

 

“We’ll let you young things get to know one another,” her mother had trilled and left them together in the conservatory alone. It had taken five minutes of stilted conversation before Derek had tried to kiss her and when she’d pushed him off her, he’d called her frigid and implied that she’d have to get over that before going to college. Regina had resisted the urge to stab him in the crotch with her stiletto heels.

 

Ruby’s working; Granny is her grandmother and she works weekends because Granny won’t fund her expensive clothing habits. She comes over with their order of fries. “Hey, Graham and I were thinking cast and crew drinks next weekend for Halloween.”

 

Regina rolls her eyes. “Uh, where? In case you don’t realise, we’re all underage.”

 

“Oh, sweet, innocent Regina,” Ruby says. Kathryn stifles a giggle in her napkin. “Granny will be out of town, at some school friends reunion in Orono, which means my place is free for a party. Graham can get booze. You can come up with a compelling excuse for everyone to stay over here.”

 

Regina sighs. “I suppose cast bonding is an important part of the process. No one can be too hung-over to rehearse the next day though.”

 

“Chill,” Ruby says. “We’ll be sweet.”

 

Regina would be concerned but they’ve managed something like this every school production and the school doesn’t seem to care.

 

Honestly, she doesn’t know what her parents think they’re paying for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the awesome comments.
> 
>  
> 
> **Cast List (for those interested)**
> 
>  
> 
> Viola – Emma  
> Olivia – Regina  
> Orsino – Graham  
> Sebastian – David  
> Antonio – Mary Margaret  
> Feste – Ruby  
> Maria – Belle  
> Malvolio – Sidney  
> Sir Toby – Neal  
> Sir Andrew – Killian


	5. Love-thoughts lie rich when canopied with bowers

Emma’s called in for costuming on Sunday before rehearsals by Ashley, who turns out to be a blonde girl with a too-long fringe and designer clothing.

 

“So, I think Viola’s going to be kind of butch,” she says. “Even when she’s actually being a girl. I want her to contrast with Orsino, who’ll be a total hipster, and Olivia’s Audrey Hepburn sophistication.” Emma doesn’t understand what Ashley’s talking about but she smiles anyway. She smiles more broadly when she is handed a red leather jacket and told to try it on. “I thought this would work for Cesario.”

 

The jacket makes Emma feel powerful and she attempts strutting around the auditorium, playing the boy. It fits perfectly, the supple leather feeling as though it is moulded to her skin. “I love it,” Emma says. “I want to wear it forever.”

 

Ashley shrugs. “Maybe. You’ll need to wear jeans – perhaps a looser pair than those if you’ve got any. Chucks or Docs for shoes. We’ll strap your chest if you’re a bit too boob-y.”

 

Emma raises an eyebrow. “Don’t think we need to worry too much,” she says, gesturing at her small breasts. “If I wear a sports bra they sort of disappear.”

 

Ashley nods. “Okay. I don’t know what to do about your hair though.”

 

“Ashley.” Emma spins around. Regina has emerged from backstage, dressed in high heeled pumps and a black sheath dress. “I can’t do the zip.” She turns and Emma gets a full view of Regina’s back in between the gaping fabric, enough to notice the tan curve of her spine and that she’s wearing a plum-coloured bra, matching underwear just visible where the zip meets dress. Emma feels flushed all of a sudden and Ashley rushes over and zips it up.

 

“It’s a bit loose,” she says, critically. “I’ll put some tucks in. Olivia should have curves.”

 

Regina turns back around and notices Emma. She smiles swiftly and says, “Swan, what is that hideous thing you’re wearing?”

 

Emma rolls her eyes. “My costume.”

 

“I refuse to believe Olivia would fall in love with someone wearing _that_ ,” Regina says, gesturing sharply at the jacket.

 

“Shut up, Regina,” Ashley says. “It’s totally hot.” Emma is gratified to see the pink stain Regina’s cheeks.

 

*

 

They’re rehearsing Olivia and Viola’s big moment in act three, just Emma, Regina and Dr Hopper because it’s the end of rehearsals and everyone’s got assignments to get on with. They’re sitting in two chairs that are standing on for a bench and Emma keeps stumbling over, “That you do think you are not what you are.” It’s driving Regina insane.

 

“Jesus, Swan,” Regina says, removing her hand from Emma’s arm and deliberately wiping it on her pants, a move so obviously calculated to annoy Emma that Emma doesn’t even react. “Spit it out already.”

 

“Shall we start with your line?” Dr Hopper suggests.

 

Regina heaves a sigh, puts her hand back and schools her face into a lovesick expression. “If I think so, I think the same of you.”

 

Emma gets the next line. “Then think you right: I am not what I am.” There’s truth in that and Regina wants time to ponder why it’s Emma’s best reading all evening.

 

“I would you were as I would have you be!” Regina clings to Emma’s arm again, stroking hair back off her forehead and smiling soppily at her.

 

Emma stands, turns her back to Regina. Regina takes a moment to very obviously check out her ass – in character, of course – and nod appreciatively. Dr Hopper stifles a laugh. “Would it be better, madam, that I am? I wish it might, for now I am your fool.” She speaks bitterly, spitting out her words.

 

Regina has her next speech down pat, creeping up behind Emma and twining an arm around her waist, holding her close, feeling the press of Emma’s body, stiff and upright as Viola. Emma twists to look at her when she says, “I love thee so, that, maugre all thy pride, nor wit nor reason can my passion hide.”

 

And when she finally finishes her speech, “love sought is good, but given unsought better,” she places a soft, chaste kiss on Emma’s lips.

 

She doesn’t think Emma’s acting when she jumps backwards and clutches her cheeks in her hands as though to hide a blush. She speaks, saying Cesario’s farewells, and walks painfully off stage. 

 

She returns a moment later. Dr Hopper is grinning. “Excellent work, guys.”

 

“Is the kiss too much?” Regina asks, desperately attempting a casual tone, like this was definitely an artistic decision she was trying out.

 

“If you’re both comfortable with it, I think it works really well,” Dr Hopper says.

 

“Emma?” Regina asks, turning to Emma.

 

Emma takes a long swig of water from her bottle before answering. “Sure.”

 

“Let’s run the scene again,” Dr Hopper says. “Remember, this is supposed to be funny, Emma. Ham it up.”

 

*

 

Back in her dorm room, Emma touches her lips. Hours later and the soft kiss placed there still feels like it has left bruising. She’s just settled down on her bed, a copy of their next Lit text in hand (ugh, she hates the Beat Generation but Gold’s got a total hard-on for Kerouac and so _On the Road_ it is) when there’s a knock at the door.

 

Her immediate thought is Regina. She hates herself for it and schools her face into a neutral expression.

 

It is Regina, still in the clothes she was wearing at rehearsal, leggings and an over-sized sweater in dark red. Her hair is falling loose of its French braid and she fiddles with the end of it. “Can we talk?”

 

Emma nods, heart thumping so loudly she’s sure Regina can hear it. “Come in.” Emma sits on her bed, hoping that this will make her relax, a futile gesture as it ultimately makes her tense up even more.

 

Regina remains standing. “I want to apologise for springing that kiss on you in rehearsals,” she says. “It was unprofessional of me. I wanted to see if it would work for the scene but I went about it the wrong way.”

 

“It’s fine,” Emma says. One fist clutches her quilt. “Enforced method acting. I get it. If it’s good enough for Daniel Day-Lewis…”

 

“Okay, good,” Regina says, shoulders relaxing. “Your reaction was really in character. I just didn’t want you to get the wrong idea.”

 

“Wrong idea?” Emma asks, raising her eyebrows. “That you just couldn’t contain yourself around me and had to plant one on me in front of Dr Hopper? Believe it or not, I’m not that egocentric.” _Yes, you are_ , her traitorous mind whispers.

 

“Okay, well, great,” Regina says. “I’ll just–“

 

“Hey, Regina,” Emma says. “We can be friends, you know. I mean, I know you’re pissed off that I got cast as Viola and you have to spend your Saturday mornings tutoring me…”

 

“I’m not angry,” Regina says quickly. “I mean, I was, but I’m over it.”

 

“You’re so not,” Emma says.

 

Regina shrugs. “Perhaps not. Perhaps I’m only here to poison your water and steal Viola for myself.”

 

Emma laughs. Regina just stares at her impassively, one eyebrow raised. “That was a joke, right?” Emma eventually asks.

 

Regina nods. “I prefer a more upfront approach,” she says. “You’d definitely know if I was trying to kill you. I have to go. Bio test first spell tomorrow.”

 

Emma stands and walks the three steps to the door with her, elbows brushing together. “Thanks, Regina.”

 

“You’re welcome, Emma,” Regina responds. She opens the door and finds Ruby with her hand raised, ready to knock.

 

Ruby leaps back from the door, spots Regina and grins. “Rehearsing our Viola and Olivia scenes, ladies?” she says, waggling her eyebrows, and Emma is suddenly fervently glad that the rest of the cast ditched the end of rehearsal.

 

“Don’t be crass, Ruby Lucas,” Regina says and sweeps past her.

 

“Yeah, Ruby,” Emma says, rolling her eyes. “Don’t be crass.”

 

Ruby pushes past her, sprawls across her bed. “You hear about the party?” Emma shakes her head. “Okay, so, cast party for Halloween next Saturday at Granny’s.”

 

“Count me in,” Emma says.

 

“You’ll need a costume,” Ruby says. “They’re mandatory.”

 

“I don’t really have anything,” Emma says. “I’ve never celebrated Halloween.” She’d never really had anyone to take her when she was a kid and the small amounts of cash she secreted away were for more important things than costumes.

 

“Oh, poor baby,” Ruby says. “Fortunately for you I have anticipated this.” She pulls a costume out of her bag. “I wore it a couple of years back, before I got boobs.”

 

Emma blanches. “No. No way. Never.”

 

“I will literally force you into it,” Ruby says, rolling up her sleeves.

 

“I have the wrong hair colour,” Emma says, desperate for an excuse. Anything.

 

“Trust me,” Ruby replies, grinning. “No one will even notice.”

 

*

 

Emma isn’t at rehearsal on Friday; it’s for the Malvolio scenes, who's being played by Sidney. She can’t stand the obsequious junior. He runs the school newspaper and has a very transparent crush on her, undaunted by the total lack of attention he receives from her. The casting is apt in that instance.

 

In the library on Saturday, she and Emma mostly study together in silence. Regina keeps sneaking looks across at Emma, watching her bite at her thumb nail as she attempts a practice Chemistry test. Regina’s agreed to mark it when she’s done.

 

Eventually, Emma cracks. “Want to run lines some time?”

 

Regina raises an eyebrow. “Struggling, Emma?”

 

“Well, I do have so many more lines to learn than you,” Emma says, leaning back in her chair and placing her arms behind her head, stretching. Regina notices the thin fabric of her tee-shirt stretching taut across her chest, her belly button peeking out as the shirt rides up and the lean sweep of her arm.

 

Even though she knows Emma’s being deliberately aggravating, Regina scowls. “Not that many more. It’s hardly my problem if you’re incompetent, Swan.”

 

“You’re the assistant director,” Emma argues. “If I do badly, it reflects on you.”

 

“Oh, shut up,” Regina says. “Do your test.”

 

Emma looks back down at her page but Regina sees the grin sneak into the corners of her lips.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Halloween Party up next!


	6. Like a drowned man, a fool, and a madman

Emma’s running late because she’s spent so much time panicking about her stupid, awful costume. She’s contemplated not wearing it, making a costume out of her uniform of jeans, tank tops and ratty sneakers, but she’s a little terrified of Ruby. Mary Margaret has waited for her. She’s dressed as Snow White, short black hair held back by a red head band. “Love your costume,” Emma says, grinning.

 

“Thanks,” Mary Margaret says, twirling the full skirts of the gown. “People say Snow White’s a bit sappy but it’s a nostalgic thing. I used to watch the Disney movie with my dad. _You_ look amazing.”

 

“Ruby lent it to me,” Emma says, tugging at her costume anxiously. Emma’s not big on showing off too much skin and she feels like she’s walking around in her underwear. She can’t shake the feeling that this is all a horrible prank. She pulls on her coat. “I am going to have to get so drunk to take this coat off.”

 

Ruby’s carved pumpkins and the jack-o’-lanterns glow warmly around the small courtyard out back of Granny’s, which is closed for business this weekend. There’s fairy lights, candy everywhere and a large bowl of noxious-looking punch. “My favourite people!” Ruby cries when they enter.

 

“Someone’s pre-gaming it,” Emma says and Ruby grins. She’s dressed as cat woman, leather clinging to her curves. Emma’s bitter; at least her costume covers her skin.

 

“Graham, get the ladies a drink!” Graham, dressed as Batman, ambles over with glasses. Emma’s given a generous cup of punch, which doesn’t taste too bad all things considered but is certainly potent. She looks around. Belle’s hanging out with Sidney. They’re both juniors and both work on the paper. Emma doesn’t have much to do with either of them; Belle’s ferociously intelligent, writes the book reviews for _The_ _Mirror,_ and Sidney’s a scheming bastard who’s a little too interested in Regina. Emma’s read the profile he wrote of her; it was sickening. Belle’s playing Maria in _Twelfth Night_ though she currently seems to be a fairy, while Sidney is dressed as a doctor.

 

In the middle of the courtyard, Killian’s in pirate garb and appears to be attempting to break dance. Someone should tell him to give it up but it’s not going to be Emma.

 

“Emma!” It’s Kathryn, hair teased out and a Gryffindor tie draped loosely around the neck of her white shirt. Emma thinks she spots David across the room with a ginger wig. Couples costumes. Adorable. Kathryn doesn’t have a drink and her smile is warm. Emma returns it. “I’m Kathryn. We haven’t really talked yet.”

 

Emma shrugs. “I guess I thought you’d be on Regina’s side.”

 

“There aren’t sides, haven’t been for a while,” Kathryn says. “Regina’s just…”

 

“Just what?” Regina’s standing behind Kathryn.

 

“Just delightful. Regina’s just delightful is definitely what I was going to say,” Kathryn says. “I see David. Better go!”

 

“Hey,” Emma says.

 

“Hey,” Regina replies. She’s tipsy, Emma can tell, her eyelids fluttering and she’s not standing entirely steady, resting a hand awkwardly on a table. She’s wearing a blonde wig and is wearing a blue pantsuit.

 

“Who are you supposed to be?” Emma asks.

 

“Hilary Clinton,” Regina says as though this should be perfectly obvious and not at all a weird costume choice for an 18-year-old girl.

 

Kathryn passes by them again, this time arm in arm with David and shout-whispers, “every fucking year.”

 

“You look hot,” Emma says and then wants to shoot herself in embarrassment. Regina, despite the blonde wig, does look ridiculously good in a suit and it’s doing weird and uncomfortable things to Emma’s insides.

 

“Thanks,” Regina replies, though she narrows her eyes suspiciously. “I take it you are dressed as a flasher.” She gestures vaguely at the coat and Emma’s legs, which are bare above the red boots.

 

“I will have to be so much more drunk to take this coat off,” Emma tells her.

 

“Well,” Regina says contemplatively and refills their glasses to the brim, before sculling her own and refilling it again. “Get on it then.”

 

Emma laughs. “I think I like drunk Regina.”

 

“I hate her,” Regina says, grimacing as the alcohol seems to hit her system. “She’s the worst. I hate you too, by the way, _Swan_.”

 

“Oh good, we’re back to being British public school boys,” Emma says. “ _Mills_.” Mary Margaret is chatting with Belle and Sidney, though she keeps darting looks over at David and Kathryn, and Emma feels okay about leaving her with them.

 

Regina’s finished her next drink. “Let’s dance,” she says, dragging Emma into the centre of the room.

 

*

 

Regina’s at a pleasant stage of being drunk where everything is amazing and spinning and giggly but she doesn’t have her head in a toilet, throwing up and crying. Ruby’s playlist of Halloween music has landed on ‘Heads Will Roll’ and Regina sways her hips to the beat of the music.

 

Emma downs her drink, takes a deep breath and removes her coat.

 

For a moment, Regina forgets there’s anyone else in the room. Her eyes drift from Emma’s knee-high red boots, up the bare expanse of slim, creamy thighs, to her hips clothed in blue fabric embroidered with stars, and waist, nipped in by the obscenely tight bustier that reveals too much of Emma’s breasts for Regina to function normal.

 

Ruby whistles and Emma hunches her shoulders, sucking in her stomach, hands skirting her thighs. And perhaps it’s the alcohol but Regina grabs her hand and pulls her towards her, twirling her. “Dance with me,” she whispers, and they dance.

 

Emma’s an insane dancer. She puts her whole body into it, waving long arms around, shaking her head to the beat and moving her feet. It isn’t long before she loses the costume-related self-consciousness. She drags people in, whereas Regina is more skilled at pushing them away, and soon there’s a crowd of them dancing, Mary Margaret and Ruby and Graham and Neal.

 

Neal starts getting a bit handsy, grabbing Emma’s hip and Regina feels jealousy flare up inside her. She pulls Emma away. “Come and talk to me,” she says, the words slushy in her mouth.

 

Emma laughs and agrees. They grab more punch, go into Ruby’s living room and sit at opposite ends of the couch. “I’ve never had a Halloween before,” Emma says.

 

Regina has years of memories, her dressed in perfect, homemade (well, dressmaker made) costumes – one year Alice in Wonderland, the next a mermaid, the memorable occasion when she was ten where she was Captain America – and her father dressed as a pirate beside her, taking her trick or treating around their neighbourhood. She remembers binging on chocolate and throwing everything up later because she was just so _full_ and her mother holding her hair away from her face, stroking her back in concentric circles and whispering angrily at her father. “Why not?”

 

“Just never had anyone who wanted to make it special for me,” Emma says.

 

They haven’t acknowledged the fact that Emma is in the foster system, though obviously Regina knows; Mal made sure of that. “Now you do,” she says and is pleased to see a blush spread across Emma’s face. “I mean, all of us in the cast,” she adds because she might be drunk but she hasn’t totally lost control of herself.

 

“Course,” Emma says and takes a long gulp of her drink.

 

She’s about to gather the courage to ask Emma if she’s gay or possibly allude to it so obviously that Emma gets what she’s trying to say, when Ruby enters, dragging a large group of people behind her. “Movie!” she yells. “We’re watching _The Mummy_. Granny’s got a total thing for Brendan Fraser.”

 

“It’s not even scary,” Regina says indignantly.

 

“To you maybe,” Kathryn says darkly. “I had nightmares for a week after you made me watch it.” She squeezes in between Regina and the arm of the couch, forcing Regina to breach the distance between herself and Emma.

 

“You were eight,” Regina says. “You were also scared of the evil step-mother in _Snow White_.”

 

“Bitch was terrifying,” Kathryn says.

 

Emma’s laughing at them, feet curled up under her. Regina is intensely aware that Emma’s feet, encased in their Wonder Woman boots, are touching her hip.

 

*

 

Regina’s right. _The Mummy_ isn’t even remotely scary. It’s fun though and Evie is a total babe.

 

Regina’s removed her wig, the hair underneath it tied back in a ballerina bun. She pulls at the elastic band, releasing the waterfall of almost-black hair, kinked and frizzy but still intoxicating. They’re close enough that her hair is tickling Emma’s bare shoulder and she can smell Regina’s shampoo.

 

Evie stares over her round spectacles at Rick, says, “well, if you call that a kiss,” and Emma lets out an audible sigh because seriously? Rachel Weitz is too hot. Kathryn takes a moment from having her face buried in Regina’s jacket (where is David anyway?) to give Emma a sly look behind Regina’s back.

 

Regina cackles through the hokum scary bits – scarab beetles burrowing under skin, CGI mummies, distorted faces – utterly unsympathetic to Kathryn beside her. At some point in the film, Emma feels Regina’s hand creep over her shoulder and Emma snuggles into her.

 

After all, it’s cold and she’s basically wearing underwear.

 

There’s more drinking during and after the film and Emma’s well past tipsy. People start trailing off to various beds at around midnight, mostly because Regina has ordered them to sleep off hangovers before rehearsal. “Hey, Swan. Swan,” Regina says.

 

“Hey, Mills,” Emma says and Regina grimaces.

 

“Fine, Emma. Emma, we should have a band. I can be the lead singer and Ruby can be the bass and Kathryn can be the drummer and you can play the tambourine.”

 

Emma laughs. “I don’t know how to play the tambourine.”

 

“It’s really easy,” Regina says. “Our band will be called Regina and the Idiots.”

 

“I like that even when you are very drunk you are still a total egotist,” Emma says.

 

“Shut up,” Regina says, slapping Emma’s leg. “That’s rude.”

 

“So’s your face,” Emma says. Then, “actually, it’s not. It’s really pretty.”

 

“My face?” Regina asks, touching her cheeks.

 

“Yeah,” Emma says, buoyed by the confidence that only six glasses of strong punch can give. “And your hair and your boobs and your lips and your hair.”

 

“Emma,” Regina says, clasping both of Emma’s hands and making severe eye contact with her. It’s so very ‘Lifetime movie’. “Are you a lesbian?”

 

Emma bites her lip. “I like you.”

 

Regina grins, white teeth showing. “Good,” she says and then breaches the gap between them and kisses Emma. It’s soft and a bit sloppy (which Emma didn’t expect from Regina in her many and varied fantasies of kissing Regina) and Regina bites her bottom lip a little too hard and Emma’s heart is pound, pound, pounding. “I think,” Regina says when they pause, “that I am too drunk to make life-changing decisions.”

 

So Emma curls up against her on the couch, Regina’s body relaxed and warm against hers and she falls asleep to the soft rise and fall of Regina’s chest.

 

When Emma wakes early, the beginnings of a hangover forming, she sees Regina’s face, hard edges softened in sleep and a faint smile playing on her full lips, and panics.

 

So she does what she’s always done best. She runs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'Heads Will Roll' by the Yeah Yeah Yeahs.


	7. Let his hurt be looked at

 

When Regina wakes up, sunlight is streaming through the windows of Ruby’s living room and the soft weight of a body that Regina remembers is gone.

 

Of course.

 

She gets up, holding her head, which is aching and is easier to deal with than the painful throbbing in her chest, and checks her phone. 9.00. Three hours until rehearsals. She removes her blazer, buys a take-out coffee on her way back to school and enters through the back doors to get to her dorm. Kathryn’s sitting on the floor outside her room.

 

“Lost your key?” Regina asks irritably. Kathryn looks up. Her eyes are red and wet and her lips are trembling. “Oh, dear.” She pulls out her own key, helps Kathryn up and unlocks the door to her dorm room. Kathryn curls up on Regina’s bed, hugging her pillow. Regina sits at her feet, awkwardly patting her calves. “There, there,” she says. “Do you want to talk?” She’s never been one for comfort and she knows Kathryn likes things like hugs and soothing words and all that awful stuff.

 

“No,” Kathryn says, sniffing. Then she sits up, still hugging Regina’s pillow like a stuffed toy. “David and I broke up.”

 

Regina struggles to register an appropriate response. She’s sad for Kathryn, of course, and angry at David (how could he possibly think he could do better than Kathryn Midas?) and oddly unsurprised. “I’m sorry, dear.”

 

“He said it felt like we’d been going through the motions for a while now,” Kathryn says, voice shaking.

 

“What an asshole.” Regina feels her fists clench, nails digging into the soft skin of her palms.

 

“The thing is, I sort of agree,” Kathryn says. “But I’m scared, Regina.”

 

“Of what?”

 

“What if I never find anyone else? What if that was _it_ for me? My true love? Soul mate?”

 

Regina’s never prescribed to this idea of one true love and soul mates. The idea makes her want to gag, in fact. The idea that there’s one person out there who’s perfect for you seems ludicrous because what if they’re in, like, New Zealand or Ethiopia? What if they die young? What if they’re run off by your mother? “If he was your one true love, it wouldn’t have gone stale,” she settles on saying.

 

“I don’t know how to be single,” Kathryn says.

 

“It’s pretty simple,” Regina says. “Lots of study, a fair amount of self-pleasure…” Kathryn chokes out a laugh. “Come here,” Regina says and pulls Kathryn into a hug. It’s uncomfortable, Kathryn’s bony shoulders digging into Regina and they both tense. “You are brilliant and beautiful and kind.”

 

Kathryn smiles at her. It’s shaky but she’s smiling. “Stop hugging me, Regina. It’s creepy when you hug,” Kathryn says and there is a hint of her old spark back in her voice. “Besides, you reek of booze.”

 

“That’s the last time I’ll ever be kind to you,” Regina says, grabbing a change of clothes and her toiletries. At the door, she turns. “I’m just going to shower. I’ll be quick, I promise.”

 

In the locked bathroom, she studies her face in the mirror. Her hair is a mess, knotted at the ends, forming dreadlocks. It’ll take at least two goes at the conditioner to rid it of the snags. She didn’t wash her face last night and her eye makeup has smeared shadowy and dark around her eyes. She takes a face wipe and attacks her skin until it stings and is faintly red. He lips feel tender but they don’t look any different. She doesn’t look any different. For some reason she thought she might.

 

She scrubs at her skin under the hot water. The showers at Storybrooke Prep have terrible water pressure and she never feels as clean here as she does at her parents’ home with its blistering pressure. It’s under water that she lets tears come.

 

 _Love is weakness_ , her mother has always told her. While she knows, logically, that what she feels for Emma Swan is not love, can’t possibly be, it has unmoored her, made her vulnerable. She knows that most of her classmates think she’s this frigid ice queen and they’re right because this is what happens when you _feel_.

 

She washes her face and steps out of the shower, pleased to see there’s no evidence of her tears. Then, she dresses, braids her wet hair and wraps it into a bun, and returns to her room to comfort Kathryn before rehearsals.

 

*

 

The atmosphere at rehearsals is uncomfortably tense. Emma arrives early, secreting herself away in a corner and frantically going over her lines. They’re blocking the final act today. It involves most of the cast and far too much emotion. Emma’s not quite sure if she can handle it.

 

Regina enters, a few minutes late but no one’s started. It’s as though Emma’s whole focus narrows and all she can see is Regina, who looks tired, dark circles under her eyes, and she’s clutching a water bottle like a lifeline. She looks around and, for one moment, her eyes meet Emma’s and Emma is struck by the hurt radiating from them, her whole face hardening when she sees Emma.

 

“All right,” Dr Hopper says. “Time to make a start.”

 

“Kathryn won’t be at rehearsals,” Emma overhears Regina say and Dr Hopper just nods.

 

There’s a stiffness to Regina’s acting this afternoon that Emma would like to be able to attribute to a hangover. She’s lost the sinuous, pleasure-seeking side of Olivia that comes out in her scenes with Cesario and is back to heavy mourning. She merely looks at Graham with distain, lip curled, the old Regina that Emma is so familiar with back, when he makes his speech threatening to kill her, take away everything from her, if he can’t have her.

 

“Cesario, husband. Stay!” she calls as Graham and Emma move to exit.

 

Graham exclaims, “husband!” He’s such a good Orsino because he recognises that Orsino is inherently ridiculous and plays that up.

 

“Ay, husband: can he that deny?” There’s bitterness in Regina’s voice.

 

“Her husband, sirrah!” Graham barks, turning to Emma, anger flashing across his face.

 

“No, my lord, not I.” Emma’s voice is soft, plaintive but she can’t help but glance over at Regina and sees her face blaze with pain for just a moment and Emma wishes she’d had the courage to stay that morning.

 

They continue. Emma’s over one side of the stage, back half-turned to the cast, when David-as-Sebastian enters. She sees him wrap an arm around Regina’s waist, “I am sorry, madam, I have hurt your kinsman.”

 

Regina’s rigidity is exacerbated by this and Emma wonders whether something has transpired between her and David.

 

“Regina,” Dr Hopper says. “You need to be softer in this moment. Remember the progress Olivia has made.”

 

“Of course,” she says, her voice cool and while her voice eases, her body does not, remaining wooden and uncomfortable against David.

 

It’s easy to let tears flow when Viola and Sebastian are finally reunited. Regina’s wide-eyed, “most wonderful” as she stares between the two of them, her thoughts so obviously dirty, forces a laugh out of several cast members.

 

Less easy is the romantic union of Orsino and Viola. Dr Hopper wants there to be a kiss. “The audience have earned it at this point,” he says. “We want Viola to be happy.”

 

“I’m sure Miss Swan won’t have a problem with that,” Regina says, needling, and it stabs Emma.

 

Graham shrugs. “I’m game if you are.”

 

Emma nods. “Okay.”

 

“Here is my hand: you shall from this time be your master's mistress.” Graham takes her hand, pulls her close and kisses her. It’s awkward. Emma admittedly doesn’t have much experience with stage kisses so this could be totally normal but his lips are dry and they’re both fighting hangovers. There’s no way this can be romantic for the audience. Emma’s all too aware of the fact that Regina watching her and she can’t help but make comparisons to the heat and aching of her first, chaste kiss on this same stage with Regina.

 

“Okay,” Dr Hopper says. “We’ll have a think about it.”

 

Rehearsals continue. Dr Hopper speaks to the cast at the end. “We’re going really well,” he says bracingly, despite all evidence to the contrary in this rehearsal. “Only a month until we open. I’ll be talking about ticket sales next week. Regina, anything to add?”

 

Regina shakes her head, which surprises Emma because Regina _always_ has something to say at the end of rehearsals. It’s normally about how incompetent they are, true, but she never misses the opportunity to speak her mind.

 

*

 

“We need to talk,” Emma says, grabbing Regina’s arm and pulling her aside after rehearsal breaks up. Regina just wants to get back to her dorm room, wants to leave the awful rehearsal behind. Besides, she’s got lots of study to do, thanks to Ruby’s party, and she’s promised Kathryn they’ll go to the dining hall together.

 

Regina glares at her. “About?” she asks, her voice coming out in sharp, clipped tones. It doesn’t help that Emma looks kind of amazing, skin glowing, legs lean and long in black leggings, blonde curls bouncing around her shoulders. She desperately wants to run her fingers through her hair, make her keen with need against the sensitive skin of Regina’s neck.

 

“You’re not going to make this easy, are you?” Emma asks. Regina just stares at her. “No, of course not. Look, last night…”

 

“I get it,” Regina says, suddenly not wanting to hear anything more. ‘Look, last night’ is never going to end with ‘I want to make out some more please, and possibly feelings’. “You were drunk. So was I.”

 

“Well, yes,” Emma says. “But…”

 

“It was a pleasant kiss,” Regina continues. “But we were drunk and you obviously regretted it this morning. That’s fine, great even.”

 

“You don’t seem fine,” Emma says, her posture challenging.

 

“Trust me,” Regina says. She laughs but it comes out bitter. “Not everything is about you, Swan.”

 

“Oh great, we’re back to that,” Emma mutters.

 

“Look, I’ve got a lot going on at the moment,” Regina says. “David and Kathryn broke up.” Acting opposite David today had been a struggle. Having him as her love interest was even worse. And she’d seen too many of those puppy dog looks Mary Margaret had been shooting him, like he was the moon and stars. It made her sick.

 

“Shit,” Emma says and the worst of it is she looks genuinely sorry. “Tell her I’m sorry.”

 

“Will do, Swan,” Regina says, bright and breezy. “See you next week.” She smiles, well, bares her teeth, and leaves.

 

 _Love is a weakness_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, yeah, they're both idiots.


	8. How am I beguiled

 “And how are you, Emma?” Dr Hopper asks. It’s Friday and she’s in his office for her weekly session. He’s made her a cup of tea and she busies herself stirring in sugar.

 

“I’m great,” she says and if she can hear the false chirpiness in her voice she’s sure that Dr Hopper can as well. “I’m getting A’s in most subjects now. I still suck at Chemistry, but I think that’s because I suck at Chemistry not because I’m struggling.”

 

“Regina’s been a big help then,” he says, smiling.

 

“Yeah,” Emma says, wishing he hadn’t brought up Regina. She hasn’t seen her all week, except in English Lit where they’ve never interacted if they can possibly help it. Regina had drawn her hair back in a stern bun on Thursday and Emma had spent so much of the lesson memorising the planes and curves of her neck that she missed all the notes. She doesn’t know whether to expect her at mentoring tomorrow. The fact is she probably doesn’t need her help anymore but she loves the time she spends in the library with Regina. She feels like she gets more work done in those few hours than she does the whole rest of the week.

 

“You’re doing wonderfully in the play,” he says. “It’s great to see you getting on so well with the cast.”

 

“I’m enjoying it,” Emma says. “Everyone’s really nice.” She fiddles with a snow globe on Dr Hopper’s desk, shaking it and watching the flakes fall onto the picture perfect village bellow.

 

“That’s excellent,” Dr Hopper says. “I am so pleased you’re settling in here. Now, have there been any more issues?”

 

Mal’s stopped bothering her, shooting her the occasional poisonous look, but she seems sufficiently terrified of what Regina might do. Emma suspects Regina might not do anything. She wonders whether she was only defended in the first place because Regina really doesn’t like Mal, rather than because she likes Emma. In her darkest moments, she wonders if Regina agrees with any of what Mal said. “She seems to have backed off,” Emma says, voice neutral. “Do I still need these meetings?”

 

“I said until the end of the semester,” Dr Hopper reminds her gently. “It was one of the requirements of you not going before the board.”

 

“But I’m fine,” Emma says obstinately.

 

“So what are you doing over the Christmas break?” he asks and Emma shocks herself and, she thinks, Dr Hopper by bursting into tears. Because, of course, Christmas break means temporary care, possibly a group home. It means sharing a room and noise and mess. It means loneliness because even the best families aren’t home and they never last long enough to mean anything. No one wants a 17-year-old daughter foisted on them.

 

It doesn’t last long, but her nose has run and her eyes are itching and her face is sticky. “I’m sorry,” she gulps. “I don’t–“

 

Dr Hopper passes her a box of Kleenex and she blows her nose noisily. “I think there’s some stuff you could work through with me,” he says.

 

Emma just nods.

 

*

 

It’s three weeks until show time and her mother has left another series of phone messages.

 

“Regina dear, I want to know about booking tickets to your little show.”

 

“Call me back, Regina.”

 

“I was thinking maybe I would invite Lance and his lovely son, Derek. You got on together so well the other weekend.”

 

Regina’s ignoring these messages in favour of getting dressed into something more outside-the-dorm-room appropriate and going to the library for mentoring (she’s made a commitment and she doesn’t back out of them) when her phone rings again. “Hello, Mother,” Regina says, resigning herself to answering it after the seventh ring.

 

“Regina, dear,” her mother says. “Have you only just woken? Early to bed, early to rise.” She can picture her mother so clearly, her dark hair (dyed, of course) curled around an impeccably made-up face. She’ll be wearing tailored slacks and a shirt, even though it’s a Saturday morning, and be sitting, legs crossed, in her study chair. It’s a chair designed to intimidate, taller than those around it and cloaked in velvet, and her mother sits on it like it’s a throne.

 

“No, Mother,” Regina says, holding the phone between her ear and shoulder so she can pull on stockings. “I’ve been up for hours but I turn my phone off when I’m studying.” A lie but a serviceable one.

 

“Well then,” her mother says, somewhat mollified. “When exactly is this play on?”

 

“End of November,” Regina says. “I’ll send you tickets next week.”

 

“Send four,” her mother says in a tone that brooks no contradiction.

 

“I would really rather you didn’t bring Lance and Derek,” she replies, knowing as she speaks how futile her words are. She pulls on leather oxfords and stands, reaching behind her and managing to pull up the zip on her dress.

 

“Derek said such lovely things about you,” her mother says.

 

“Did he?” Regina asks, genuinely surprised. She would’ve thought he’d feel he was well shot of her. She paints her lips in deep red and then scrubs it off, coming to the disturbing realisation that she’s dressing as though going on a date (not that she has much experience with that).

 

“He told his father you were beautiful, very accomplished and had good conversation.”

 

“Have we dropped into the 1800s without me realising?” Regina asks. “Should I be learning country dances and putting on my bonnet when I go outside?”

 

“Honestly, Regina, one would think you weren’t interested in making good connections,” her mother says, exasperation in her voice.

 

“Not with _Derek_ ,” Regina says.

 

Her mother sighs. “Is this about your unfortunate phase? Regina, stop playing silly games and face reality.”

 

“Fine, four tickets,” Regina says flatly, that sick feeling clutching at her stomach like it does every time her mother talks about her sexuality. She wishes she’d never kissed Daniella, just left it as one of those hideous unrequited crushes she’s so used to, but more than that wishes desperately that her mother hadn’t walked in just as Daniella had snaked a hand up Regina’s shirt and into her bra. “I have to get to mentoring.”

 

“Good bye, dear.”

 

She’s shaking when she hangs up and takes a moment to steady herself before grabbing her books and walking down the corridors to the library. The smell of books and dust settles her. Emma’s at their usual table, hair tied back from her face. She looks tired, skin a bit too pale. She’d seemed that way at rehearsals last night, withdrawn and tense and it was fortunate that her role in rehearsals was fairly minimal for once.

 

She’s not alone though. Neal Cassidy is sitting beside her, just a little bit too close, leaning in as he talks to her. Regina can’t hear what he says but Emma laughs. It’s brief and quiet but it makes Emma’s face light up and Regina feels a stab of jealousy because she wants so desperately to be the one to make Emma’s face light up. She looks up and sees Regina and the smile fades.

 

Regina strides over, schooling her face into its usual impassivity. Lips together, chin up, eyes forward. “Swan, Cassidy.”

 

Emma grimaces. “Hey, Regina. Neal, I’ve got to study.”

 

Neal’s looking between the two of them. “Study group? I get that.”

 

“Emma needs academic mentoring,” Regina says and Emma looks wounded, lips turning into a frown and forehead creasing.

 

“Sure,” Neal says. “See you later, Em. Regina.”

 

Em? Regina bristles inwardly. “Right, Chemistry again this week?”

 

“What? Yeah, I guess. I don’t think I’m going to improve on my B-average no matter how much you tutor me,” Emma says.

 

“Well, what else do you need help with?” Regina asks.

 

“I have a statistics report that could be proofed,” Emma suggests. “Or we could just study.”

 

“I study better alone,” Regina says. “I’m supposed to be helping you, futile effort though it may be. Hand over the report.”

 

Of course it’s handwritten and so of course Regina spends far too much time contemplating Emma’s handwriting: the cramped style, the letters written heavily, practically carved into the paper. The words swim in front of her and she blinks. Clearer now. She starts to proof-read. When she’s finished, she looks up to find Emma staring at her. “Surely you have something more productive to do than stare at me,” she says.

 

“You’re dressed up,” Emma says.

 

“Yes,” Regina says. “And?”

 

“It’s like armour,” Emma says. “You want to intimidate me.”

 

Regina wants to ask if it’s working. She wants to say that actually she’d forgotten mentoring was not actually a date. She wants to say that it’s not about intimidation, but protection. She wants to blame Emma for something. “All right,” she says. “I think we’re done here.”

 

“I’m sorry?” Emma asks.

 

“You don’t need mentoring anymore. I have too much to do, without wasting several hours on my Saturdays. I have early admission essays to write, class work for seven AP classes to complete, the play…”

 

“This is supposed to be for the whole semester,” Emma says, her frown back. “That was one of the requirements of my continuing to stay at Prep…”

 

“Tell Dr Hopper it wasn’t working out and request someone else. Tell him it’s still happening. Whatever you want.” Regina scoops up her books, not bothering to put them back in her satchel and stalks out of the library. She manages to make it to her room before the tears come.

 

*

 

Neal asks Emma out for a coffee before Sunday’s rehearsal and Emma says yes. She knows Regina’s overheard because Regina’s glaring at her and Neal, eyes narrowed and lips pursed.

 

And so what? Regina didn’t listen; she immediately assumed the worst and totally shut Emma out. Emma had thought they were friends at least. You ran out on her, a voice in the back of her mind whispers. You didn’t try hard enough. They’re rehearsing a Viola-heavy scene so she doesn’t have time to think, throwing her whole self into her acting and Dr Hopper congratulates her at the end of rehearsals. “Your best yet, I think,” he says.

 

She follows Regina out of rehearsals. “Regina,” she calls after her but Regina quickens her pace. Emma runs to catch up with her, knowing that Regina would never lower herself to running in the corridors. “Jesus, lady.”

 

“What, Swan?” Regina asks, whirling around. She hasn’t managed to smooth away her features like she always does and she looks angry, eyes narrowed and a flush in her cheeks.

 

“I’m sorry,” Emma says. “For leaving, for not trying harder to talk to you afterwards. It’s a defence mechanism, obviously not a great one.”

 

“Water under the bridge, dear,” Regina says. “Enjoy your date.” She spits the last word.

 

“I’d rather be…” but Emma stops because they’ve rounded a corner to find David and Mary Margaret making out against a wall.

 

Regina shrieks and the two split apart. Mary Margaret’s eyes are wide and horrified and David appears nervous, feet shifting. “It’s been one week, David. One week,” Regina says and her voice is low and venomous.

 

“Regina,” David says. “Please, let me tell Kathryn.”

 

“You’re pathetic,” Regina hisses, storming off. The sound of her boots against the linoleum echoes through the corridor.

 

“You haven’t told Kathryn?” Mary Margaret says. “You said you would, David.” She looks heartbroken, her lip trembling and brown eyes filling with tears. “I don’t want to be some dirty secret.” And she runs off in the direction of the junior dorms. Emma shakes her head at David and follows Mary Margaret who, she suspects, will need a friend about now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks all! I've really enjoyed the reviews.


	9. Give me excess of it

“I’m fine, Emma,” Mary Margaret says, smiling wanly over a cup of cocoa in the student lounge after dinner. Emma’s made it for her, sprinkled it with cinnamon the way Emma herself likes it. “Seriously.” She shoots a look across the hall, spots David with his friends, and quickly jerks her head back to Emma. “How are you?”

 

“Fine,” Emma says, avoiding eye contact. She’s not fine. She had her ‘date’ with Neal at lunchtime, at Granny’s because apparently there’s nowhere else to go in Storybrooke. Regina and Kathryn had been there, sharing a bowl of fries, and studying. Regina had shot Neal a dirty look but otherwise ignored them. She and Neal had drunk milkshakes and talked about the play and school and life.

 

It was just all so superficial. He was nice enough, did all the right things on a first date: insisted on paying (Emma would have feminist principles about this but she has no money and Neal’s family is obviously loaded if he goes to Storybrooke), pulled out chairs for her, held her hand as they walked back to school... She’d felt bad telling him it wasn’t going to work and then he’d asked why.

 

“I think I like girls,” Emma had said and then clapped a hand over her mouth. “Shit.”

 

“Was that you coming out?” Neal had asked. He was smiling, so Emma had figured at least he wasn’t a homophobe.

 

“Yeah,” she’d said. “First time ever. Feel privileged.” It’s not like there’d ever been anyone for her to come out _to_ , even if she had been certain of her sexuality. The string of foster parents was unlikely to care and she’d always kept to herself at school up until now.

 

He’d laughed, which crinkled his eyes at the corners. “I’ve been rejected for worse.”

 

“I know for sure I like one girl anyway,” Emma had said. “And that’s taking up all my energy.” They’d walked back up to school together.

 

Mary Margaret has a book in her lap, but she’s not reading it. “I just wish things could be easy,” she whispers.

 

“Yeah,” Emma replies. “Easy is good.”

 

The cocoa has a sedative effect on Mary Margaret and she heads to bed early. Emma lies on her own bed, staring around at her room, noting the blank walls, the lack of memorabilia, photos, even colour. She knows most people decorate their dorm rooms – Mary Margaret shares a dorm with Belle and their room is packed with books and cushions and prints of birds that Mary Margaret found on Etsy. Emma stopped by to get a book off Ruby once (they’re in the same Statistics class) and noticed the red fabric draped over every available space, the candles that are definitely against the rules, the poster of a shirtless Chris Hemsworth on her bedroom door.

 

She wonders what Regina’s room looks like. She can’t help but imagine Regina in a velvet armchair even though you’d never fit one in a dorm room, listening to, like, Bach or Mozart or something, sipping tea and staring at a framed Monet print on her wall. She imagines herself, sliding in to sit with her on the armchair, half-sitting in Regina’s lap, and cuddling up against her. She’d change the music to something a bit more modern and Regina would sneer but she’d feel her leg tapping along.

 

It’s hideously domestic and she hates herself for it.

 

*

 

It’s dress rehearsals that are supposed to be a fiasco, Regina keeps reminding herself, not technical rehearsals.

 

So far, they’ve broken one very expensive backdrop, two microphones and Regina’s tripped over a power cord and ripped her trousers. The last is a real loss; they were a nice pair of loose fitting trousers, comfortable, silky fabric, and they’re not stocked in any of the stores in Storybrooke. She’ll have to order online or wait until the holidays to get a new pair.

 

“Hey.” It’s Emma. “You’ve got dust down your side.”

 

Regina looks at her left arm and sure enough, her sleeve is positively coated in grey dust. “Thanks,” she says, brushing at it, a futile gesture that mostly serves to make her sneeze.

 

“Places, guys,” Dr Hopper says. “Sean, Jim, you ready?” The tech boys give the thumbs up from their booth at the back. Regina looks backstage and catches Kathryn’s eye. Kathryn’s in the midst of yelling at a terrified freshman who’s just dropped the prompt book, but smiles back at Regina.

 

Regina’s shocked at how well Kathryn’s doing. Since that one bad day, she’s thrown herself into _Twelfth Night_ with renewed gusto. “This is going to be the best show we’ve done,” she’d said to Regina this morning over breakfast. She coped with the news of David and Mary Margaret better than Regina could have possibly anticipated. Regina’s not good at forgiveness but Kathryn seems to an expert.

 

She’s also become increasingly nosy. Regina’s managed to avoid telling her about how the Halloween party ended but she’s noticed that she and Emma have cooled off considerably and she will not stop going on about it. “You were getting somewhere,” she’d said.

 

“Leave it, Kathryn,” Regina had replied, almost growling.

 

“What are you afraid of?” she’d asked and Regina had wanted to scream because what isn’t she afraid of? She’s afraid that she’ll be outed at school and she’ll lose the social capital she has accrued during her time at this school. She’s afraid that her mother will find out about Emma and destroy her for Regina like she destroyed Daniella. She’s afraid that her father, who doesn’t know that she’s gay, won’t support her. She’s afraid she won’t get into Harvard. She’s afraid that she will. She’s afraid Emma doesn’t care about her. She’s afraid she does and that she’d fuck it up anyway because, it’s not like she has great role models for love around her.

 

“Okay,” Dr Hopper says. “Act Three. Let’s go.”

 

Two stage hands bring on the garden bench and the various other props associated with the scene. The stage is bathed in golden light. Emma and Ruby enter from each side, and begin. Regina watches Emma walk, her gait cocky, youthful. Ashley’s trying out more masculine hairstyles for her blonde curls so Emma’s hair is braided and tucked so that it looks as though it stops at ear length, the loose curls framing her face.

 

“But we are prevented,” she says and that is Regina’s cue to enter. She and Belle stroll on stage. “Most excellent accomplished lady, the heavens rain odours on you!” Emma says and bows low. They play out the scene and knowing that the focus is on the sound and lighting seems to be allowing them to act more naturally than they have in a while.

 

“I would you were as I would have you be!” She’s touching Emma’s arm, can feel the charge of electricity between the two of them and, in this moment, is grateful that at least she has this much.

 

Emma stands. “Would it be better, madam, that I am? I wish it might, for now I am your fool.” She speaks bitterly, spitting out her words.

 

Regina twines her arms around Emma’s body, feeling her stiffen and then relax into her touch and speaks, almost whispering, as though it is only Emma who can hear, as though she isn’t stage-whispering, projecting her voice to the back of the auditorium. “Love sought is good, but given unsought better.” She kisses Emma, as they’ve rehearsed over and over and over.

 

And Emma kisses back.

 

*

 

Regina kisses her, that soft kiss in act three, and Emma forgets she’s acting, forgets that there’s this audience, and responds, closing her eyes, sinking into the kiss, wrapping her arms around Regina’s waist, pulling her tighter.

 

Viola’s supposed to react in horror, she remembers too late, but she can’t bring herself to care. Not when Regina’s lips are soft and warm against her own and Regina’s hands stroke her face, brushing the tendrils of hair curling at her cheeks aside.

 

“Uh,” Ruby says, and they break apart. Regina’s face is flushed and her eyes dart around, noting everyone who has seen this display. Panic darts across her face.

 

“Sorry,” Emma says. “Sorry. Bad joke.”

 

No one is convinced, least of all Emma. Regina turns away for a moment, her shoulders shake for just a second, and then she turns back and her face is a mask. “Could we stick to the approved blocking, Swan?” she asks, voice crisp.

 

Emma nods. Dr Hopper’s looking at the pair of them, as though so many things are just now making sense to him. “Okay, let’s carry on people.”

 

After rehearsal, Dr Hopper pulls her aside. “I’d like to talk to Regina,” Emma says, watching her leave rehearsal, brushing past Kathryn as she tries to stop her.

 

“Emma, sit down,” Dr Hopper says, directing her to the stalls, his voice more firm than she’s ever heard it. They sit, looking at the stage, in silence for a moment. The Performing Arts Centre is totally empty, the lighting dim. “What was that?”

 

Emma shrugs. “Bad joke?”

 

“Emma, I have a doctorate in adolescent psychology. I don’t buy that for a second.”

 

“It’s all totally fucked up,” Emma mutters. “Sorry. I should have left well enough alone. Friendship would have been fine, better than fine. Great.”

 

“Do you care for Regina?”

 

Emma takes a deep breath. “Yeah, I do.”

 

“You just outed yourself, and possibly her, to the whole cast,” Dr Hopper says. “That was… not great.”

 

“I don’t know what to do,” Emma says. “I have, like, no experience with this.”

 

“I’ve been told talking helps,” Dr Hopper says.

 

*

 

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

 

Regina kicks at her desk chair, which results in nothing but a pain in her toes and the toe of her boot becoming scuffed. She sits at her desk, opening her Physics text book and stares at the white wall. Her phone rings and, absently, without looking at the screen, she answers it. “Regina speaking.”

 

“Regina, it’s your mother.” Her mother’s voice is low, dangerous, a tone Regina recognises all too well.

 

“Yes, Mother?”

 

“I heard there was an incident at your technical rehearsal,” her mother says and Regina’s throat constricts. She feels the beginnings of what could become a panic attack. She hasn’t had one in ages, not since the summer.

 

“I have no idea as to what you are referring,” Regina says, attempting the lofty tone that works so well on her peers.

 

“That _girl_ kissing you,” her mother says.

 

“How did you–“

 

“Dear, please.”

 

And Regina has a flash. The side auditorium doors were open at rehearsal. Anyone could have walked past. She remembers a note from Mal, passed to her in English Lit. _This isn’t over_. Apparently not. “It was Mal Drake, wasn’t it?”

 

“She was concerned about you,” her mother says. “You two used to be such good friends.” Regina does not remember this, but there are a lot of things she chooses not to remember about her childhood.

 

“I’m sure she was,” Regina says. “Unfortunately, you were misinformed. We were merely rehearsing a scene.”

 

“Where you kiss another woman? My dear, I thought you were doing Shakespeare.”

 

“My character, Olivia, thinks that Em–Swan’s character is a boy and falls in love with her.”

 

“I see. Well, I don’t like it but I suppose it is Shakespeare. I assume your character recognises her mistake.”

 

Regina just manages to stop the sigh of relief from escaping. “Of course. She marries a man and everything, very heteronormative. I have a lot of work to do, Mother. I’ll call you and Dad later.” She hangs up, bends over, head on her knees and breathes deeply, in her nose, out her mouth, over and over until her heart has stopped rattling like a freight train and her mind is not clouded with anxiety.

 

There’s a knock at her door. “Kathryn, I am not in the mood for–“ She stops because it’s not Kathryn at the door but Emma, who’s staring at her with an intensity she’s not seen from the girl before, hazel eyes blazing. “Emma,” she breathes.

 

Emma moves forward, closing the space between them and captures Regina in a kiss, hard and rough and passionate. Regina gives herself up to the moment, pulling Emma over to her bed, where she stumbles onto it, Emma falling on top of her. Their bodies twine together, Regina’s shirt riding up, Emma’s fingers touching her stomach, fingers inflaming her skin.

 

“Dr Hopper told me to talk to you and I was going to but it seems to me that things get fucked up when we talk,” Emma says, her voice breathy, gasping as Regina kisses and bites a pressure point on Emma’s beautiful neck.

 

“Can we not talk about the school counsellor while I’m kissing your neck?” Regina asks, moving her head away and Emma whines at the loss of contact.

 

“Does this at least prove that I’m not indifferent to you?” Emma asks, finger ghosting the curve of Regina’s breasts and Regina shudders.

 

And then Regina’s brain comes back into play and she sits up, Emma awkwardly straddling her lap. “I’m sorry,” she says. “I want this so much.”

 

“But?” Emma asks.

 

“My mother.”

 

“What about her?”

 

“She’ll destroy you.” Emma’s fingers are brushing the French braid out of Regina’s hair, hands gentle. “She’s done it before.”

 

“You’re being a bit melodramatic,” Emma says and Regina wants to scream. How would Emma know what mothers are like? She’s never had one.

 

“Over the summer I had a tutor for Biology,” Regina says. Kathryn knows this story, but Regina was drunk when she told it. It’s so much harder with Emma staring at her, as though memorising her features. “Her name was Daniella. I’ve had crushes before; I’m used to dealing with them from a distance. Daniella was different. She liked me back. We kissed. It got heated. My mother walked in.”

 

Emma has clasped her hand, using her thumb to stroke the back of her hand. “She was dismissed. My mother called the tutoring organisation she was working for, her university… I don’t know what happened to her but my mother has a lot of influence.”

 

“You know she doesn’t have any power over us,” Emma says.

 

“Emma, she’s my mother. She has the most power over me of anyone.”

 

“Can we worry about her tomorrow?” Emma asks. “I’m going to go and get my uniform and books and then I’m going to come back here and you are going to fall asleep in my arms and when you wake up in the morning I swear to you I will be here.”

 

Regina lets out a shaky breath. “I’d like that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoy.


	10. Thus the whirligig of time brings in his revenges

In the morning, Emma wakes, stuck between a wall and Regina, one arm wedged under Regina’s body. “It’s like you’re _trying_ to trap me here,” she whispers, struggling to move, and Regina laughs softly. Her face is beautiful and relaxed in its sleepy state, eyes hooded and skin soft and clear. Emma leans over and kisses her. “We need to get up.”

 

“It is the nightingale,” Regina murmurs.

 

“We are _not_ Romeo and Juliet,” Emma says. “This will not end tragically.”

 

“I hope not,” Regina says though she doesn’t sound as sure as Emma. When she’d returned last night Regina had changed into a cotton nightgown, braided back her hair and cleaned her teeth. She’d looked so much younger, softer. Emma had just pulled off her jeans and bra, folding them on top of the pile of clothing, and kissed her. It hadn’t gone further than that; just holding Regina was enough for now. Forever even, Emma thinks.

 

Emma has managed to pull herself out from Regina and get up. She turns away from Regina and starts to change into her uniform. “I wasn’t kidding about us needing to get up,” she says, pulling on her school shirt, slightly crumpled from its night on Regina’s desk chair, and dragging on tights. She’s not really self-conscious, years of shared facilities and bedrooms will do that to a girl, but she can feel Regina’s eyes boring into her and when she turns around, she sees that her eyes have darkened, pupils blown, and her mouth is slightly open.

 

“Do you want some privacy?” she asks and Regina shakes her head, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. She’s much more constrained in her changing, putting her bra on under her nightgown and performing an act that would make any contortionist proud to avoid flashing any skin. It’s not that Emma means to perve but, well, it’s not a large room and it’s only so long she can stare at the print of a tree on her wall. She kisses her, hands sliding into Regina’s half-buttoned school shirt and thumb stroking her breasts above the silky bra. “I told you I’d be here in the morning.”

 

“You did,” Regina says, buttoning up and doing her tie with shaking fingers. She’s reserved again with her armour of teal school uniform on as she sits on the side of the bed, brushing her hair. Emma, who has pulled her own hair back into a scrappy ponytail, wants to take the brush away from Regina and brush it herself but she suspects the gesture would not be appreciated. Instead, she rests her head in Regina’s lap, lying across her bed with her school shoes up on the duvet, and stares up at her.

 

Regina’s body momentarily stiffens under hers but Emma’s pretty sure she’s not mad because she looks down at Emma with this absurdly fond smile. “I don’t know if I’m ready…” she says and Emma knows what she means because she’s not sure either.

 

“Come on,” Emma says because Regina’s hand has stilled its brushing. “Time to face the real world.”

 

*

 

At breakfast, Mal decides to ruin what has possibly been a perfect morning.

 

“Ah, the love birds,” she says, flicking her blonde hair and sneering at Regina and Emma, who had been bickering about _Macbeth_ (Emma doesn’t like the Scottish play and Regina is _horrified_ because Lady Macbeth’s ‘unsex me now’ monologue speaks to her very soul). “Enjoy it while it lasts.”

 

Regina stands. Her fists ball up tightly and she’s ready to attack, when she feels the pressure of Emma’s hand on her arm. “Not worth it,” Emma mutters. “Trust me. You end up with a sore fist and a meeting with Blue about your continued place in the school.”

 

Still standing, Regina smiles the smile that Kathryn calls her piranha face. “I will enjoy it,” she says. “I suggest you do the same.” There’s a flicker of fear behind Mal’s eyes, gone in the next instant. She’s wearing a gold chain around her neck – definitely against uniform code – and Regina imagines ripping it off, leaving burning red marks on her neck.

 

“Seriously, though,” Mal says; her voice grates on Regina. “Wouldn’t have picked you for a dyke, Regina.”

 

“Is there a problem here?” Kathryn asks, hurrying over to Regina’s side, breakfast tray in hand. Unconsciously or not, she puts her body between Mal and Regina.

 

“No problem,” Regina says, her voice low and smooth. “Miss Drake was just leaving.”

 

Mal stalks off and Regina sits down, finding that she’s shaking, she thinks with anger. “I have to go,” she says, abandoning her porridge.

 

“Regina?” Emma asks, eyes narrowed in concern.

 

“Sorry,” she says. “I’ll explain later.” And she leaves the dining hall.

 

It’s early but Blue’s in her office and able to see her immediately. “Miss Mills,” she says, closing a file on her computer screen and bringing up her desktop image of a desert island. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

 

“I’m concerned about Emma Swan,” Regina says, her voice changing unconsciously into the voice she uses when she talks to figures of authority.

 

“I thought Miss Swan was doing much better,” Blue say. Her dark hair is swept into a smooth chignon and Regina takes a moment to wonder how someone so comparatively young and pretty is the head mistress of a prestigious private school.

 

“Oh, she is. But there’s these nasty rumours spreading,” Regina says. “About her time in foster care, things like how many homes she’s been in and why she was removed from them… I know it’s taking a toll on her. I’m worried it will impact on her schooling and on the play.”

 

“Do you know anything about where these rumours come from?” Blue asks.

 

“I think they originate with Mallory Blake,” Regina says, falsely hesitant. “She was taunting Emma about her family situation in the library a couple of weeks ago when I was mentoring Emma.”

 

Blue sighs, raises a hand to her brow to massage it. “And Miss Swan will support these claims?”

 

“Of course,” Regina says and, with false nonchalance, asks, “Say, is Mr Blake still on the school board?”

 

She watches Blue carefully, sees the headmistress run through the scenarios and come to the only obvious conclusion.

 

*

 

Regina walks into English Lit fifteen minutes late with a note and Emma sits up straighter. She hands the note to Gold, not looking around. “Apologies,” she says. Her posture is upright, shoulders back, and she shakes her hair out, the dark weight of it moving and settling down her back.

 

He reads it, raising his eyebrows as he does so. “Miss Swan? Front office.”

 

Emma starts, her chair jolting back. Regina’s still resolutely refusing to look her way. She packs up her bag and takes the note from Gold. Regina brushes her hand against Emma’s as they pass, the only indication that she’s even noticed Emma exists.

 

She’s seen quickly, which she decides bodes well. She’s not been left stewing outside the office, making her fear for her life or her place at school. Blue looks across the desk at Emma, and Emma feels conscious of the crookedness of her tie and the fact that her hair hasn’t been washed in a couple of days. “I’ve just had Regina Mills in here with some rather disturbing information,” Blue says.

 

Emma’s heart crumples. Has this all (the kissing, the feelings, the sleepover) been some extended plot for revenge on Regina’s part? She knows Regina’s a bit fucked up, but seriously? Blue is looking at her with sympathy and Emma’s not going to cry, damn it.

 

“Can you tell me who has been spreading stories about your time in the system?” Blue asks.

 

“What?” Emma asks.

 

Blue raises an eyebrow. “ _Pardon._ ”

 

“Sorry,” Emma says, her heart thumping wildly and erratically. “What exactly did Regina tell you?”

 

“I’d like to hear it from you, Miss Swan,” Blue says. “The accusations were pretty serious.”

 

Well, Emma thinks, it’s obviously already out now. “Mal Drake,” she says, words spilling out of her like vomit. “She’s been making these comments since I started about my past, like, how many foster homes I’ve been kicked out of and stuff from my file that no one should know.” There’s something cathartic about telling the truth but it would’ve been nice if she’d had a bit of warning or, God forbid, a choice in the matter.

 

“I assume this is the reason for the fighting earlier this semester?” Blue asks, the tone of her voice firm.

 

Emma nods. “I just got so angry. I’ve just been trying to ignore it since then.”

 

Blue looks across her desk at Emma, fingers steepled. “I’m very sorry about this, Miss Swan,” she says. “There will certainly be consequences. Would you like to speak with Dr Hopper?”

 

Emma shakes her head. “I’m good until Friday.”

 

“Very well,” Blue says. “You may return to class.” Emma pushes the chair out and turns to leave. She’s at the door when Blue adds, “I’m very much looking forward to seeing _Twelfth Night_.”

 

Emma smiles shakily back at her.

 

*

 

Emma’s subdued when she returns to class, sitting back in her usual corner even though there’s a desk free beside Regina. Regina looks back several times to catch her eye but Emma seems to be deliberately avoiding eye contact. When a messenger comes for Mal at the end of the lesson, Regina feels a stab of joy in her stomach and can’t help the smile crossing her features when she meets Mal’s eye.

 

Emma rushes out before Regina can catch her and she gets this sick feeling in her throat. What’s wrong now? She can’t concentrate in Physics or Biology, misses so many notes, and when lunch comes, she manages to get out of class slightly before the bell by pretending she’s got to talk to Dr Hopper about show business. She finds herself outside Emma’s Music class, grabbing her arm as she leaves, her ratty old bag slung over one shoulder.

 

“What?” Emma asks, her voice rough and impatient.

 

Regina pulls her into the now student-free music room. Emma’s teacher is packing up. “Can we use the space to rehearse?” Regina asks and he nods, taking his papers and leaving. “You’re angry,” she says, and she can hear how confused she is. She’s screwed up and she’s not even sure _how_.

 

“Yeah, Regina,” Emma says. “I’m a bit pissed.”

 

“Why?” Emma’s not looking at her, but at her scuffed school shoes. Regina observes downturned line of her mouth, the muscle twitch in her jaw and feels sick that she’s somehow caused this.

 

“Because you used me to get revenge,” Emma says, advancing on her, invading her personal space. There’s fire in her eyes. “I was _fine_. Do you think I haven’t had people talk shit about me before? Do you think I give a crap what some asshole thinks of me?” Her chest heaves, breathing heavily.

 

“Yes, punching her in the face really demonstrated your indifference,” Regina drawls, feeling Emma’s breath on her face. “Feel free to leave. You’re good at that.”

 

“Oh, _fuck_ you,” Emma says, almost spitting. “Don’t you dare push me away.”

 

“I did it for you,” Regina says. She looks down, straightens her tie.

 

“No you didn’t,” Emma says and she sounds exhausted. She sits in a nearby music room chair, pushes up her blazer sleeves, and Regina feels the pressure of Emma’s presence ease and she sighs at the loss of her.

“Well, you were part of it,” she admits. “Part of it was for me.”

 

“Okay, more honest,” Emma says. “That’s good. Honesty is good.”

 

“Is this it then?” Regina asks. “We’re over?”

 

“Nah,” Emma says and suddenly, unexpectedly, she grins. “I don’t hold grudges. You’re stuck with me. Just, next time, talk to me first before forcing me to confess to my issues.”

 

“Good,” Regina says and grins back, relieved. “Do you want to talk about how pissed Mal’s going to be? I hope she cries.”

 

“You’re terrifying,” Emma breathes. “Come here.”

 

“What?” Regina asks, though she moves to stand over Emma, who grabs her arm and yanks her down, so she’s almost on her knees. Emma bends and kisses her, aggressive and bruising, fingernails raking up Regina’s back, wrinkling her immaculate blazer.

 

“Still angry,” she says. “But a few more of those and I’ll probably get over it.”

 

Regina smiles and complies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Loving the comments, people. Thank you!


	11. I shall have share in this most happy wreck

It’s her usual Friday appointment in Dr Hopper’s office. Emma’s got her hands wrapped around a hot cup of tea and a smile blooming on her face. She and Regina have managed four days without a fight, four days studying together in the evenings, four days of running lines, four days of good night kisses, ‘your face is really cute’ kisses, ‘you told me a secret’ kisses and ‘sorry for saying Mr Rochester can get it’ kisses.

 

“You seem happy, Emma,” Dr Hopper says, sitting back in his chair, hands clasping his own mug of tea and smiling at her.

 

“I am,” she says.

 

“Do you want to talk about why?”

 

Emma really, really does. “Regina,” she says. “Regina’s making me so happy I can hardly stand it.”

 

“So you talked?”

 

“Amongst other things,” Emma says and then blushes, remembering who she’s talking to. “Sorry.”

 

“And how are you feeling about Mal Drake?” Dr Hopper asks. “Do you want to talk about that?”

 

Mal got an internal stand-down for three days and had her town privileges revoked for a month. It turns out Emma wasn’t the only student Mal had spread information about. Regina kept finding excuses to walk past the office where Mal was stuck during the day, often with Emma, so that she could gloat, which Emma is sure isn’t healthy but, whatever. Mr Drake resigned from the board as well, though Regina reckons he was pushed. “I’m good with it,” she says. “I mean, I didn’t really want to tell.”

 

“You know that it was a good thing this came out?” Dr Hopper says. “Having an indiscreet board member is dangerous for more than just you.”

 

“Yeah,” she says. “Still, I don’t like being a narc.”

 

“If it helps any, I think that was Regina,” Dr Hopper says. “And she doesn’t seem to mind.” He smiles wryly.

 

There’s a knock at the door and Regina pokes her head around the door. “Sorry, Dr Hopper,” she says. “I was hoping to run lines with Emma before rehearsals.”

 

Emma swears Dr Hopper rolls his eyes. “Believe it or not, I didn’t come down in the first shower, Regina Mills,” he says. “Of you go, Emma.”

 

Regina practically drags her out of the front office area, down the corridors and into the performing arts centre. “Oh,” Emma says, disappointed. “So we’re actually running lines.”

 

Regina smiles. “Amongst other things.” She grabs Emma’s hand and practically yanks it out of its socket to get her to the back row of the centre, where it’s almost pitch black, and sits down, pulling Emma to sit on her lap. Emma’s feeling a little bit like a puppet at this point, though she’s not complaining. And then Regina kisses her and Emma definitely doesn’t give a shit about her rough treatment, not while Regina’s hands are skating up her back under her sweater and her mouth is pressing kisses against her lips, jaw and neck.

 

“You have trouble with the speech in act two,” she whispers, hot breath on Emma’s ear.

 

Emma sighs. “Make me a willow cabin at your gate.” Regina nips at her neck. “And call upon my soul within the house.” She sucks and Emma knows that’s going to bruise. “Write loyal cantons of contemned love.” Regina’s hand glides around to her breast, pulling her left breast from the cup and strumming at her nipple until it’s stiff. “And sing them loud even in the dead of night.” Emma captures Regina’s mouth in her own again, crushing and pushing to alleviate the need buried in her belly. “Halloo your name to the vertebrate hills.”

 

Regina stops, pulls back and Emma whines and the sudden release of pressure. “It’s reverberate,” she says.

 

Emma rolls her eyes. “Babe, you’re lucky I can speak at this stage.”

 

Regina glares.

 

“And make the babbling gossip of the air cry out.” At this point, Regina slips her knee between Emma’s thighs, grinding against Emma, and Emma can’t help but cry out, “Regina!”

 

“Olivia, dear,” Regina says, breathless and grinning wickedly.

 

“Screw you,” Emma says and for a while there is no talk of any kind, the pair of them too lost in kisses.

 

But of course, the cast arrive for rehearsals. Emma straightens her clothes as they walk down the aisle to the stage and Ruby grins. “We’ve been running lines,” Emma says.

 

Ruby looks pointedly at Emma’s neck and says, “Is that what the kids are calling it these days?”

 

They’ve not made their relationship public, although most of the cast knows. She thinks it’s thanks to interference by Kathryn and Mary Margaret that rumours haven’t spread. Storybrooke Prep is a small school, and with a conservative clientele. Though of course, if Regina insists on marking her territory – or whatever the hell the hicky was intended to do – the secret’s not going to be under wraps for much longer. Emma’s not sure she cares, but she knows Regina will.

 

At the end of rehearsals, Dr Hopper reminds them of dress rehearsals all day Sunday and Regina reminds her of mentoring. “So that’s back on?” Emma asks.

 

“I refuse to date someone who’s barely scraping by in Chemistry,” Regina says. “Library, nine o’clock.”

 

“You’re such an asshole,” Emma says, laughing. “And I think you’ll find you’ve not actually taken me on a date.”

 

“Well,” Regina says, looking contemplative. “We’ll have to change that.”

 

*

 

Regina’s a ball of anxiety and stress at the beginning of dress rehearsals. Backstage, she changes into her costume, the black dress, which Ashley has tucked so it nips at her waist, forcing her to stand straighter. She’s wearing pantyhose and Ashley’s placed a pair of Jackie O-style sunglasses on the bathroom counter, before leaving her to change. She does her own hair, pulling it back into a sleek chignon, pinning strands back. She’s under strict instructions not to spray it because the bun will come out in act three when Olivia’s trying to seduce Cesario. She powders her face, applies eyeliner and mascara and then grabs a deep red lipstick and paints her lips.

 

Sunglasses on, she saunters out of the bathroom.

 

“You know it’s not actually cool wearing sunglasses inside,” Emma says from behind her and Regina turns, smiling. She’s in her ‘maiden weeds’, which basically means leggings and a sort-of dress, with her hair loose. Ashley will get her ‘manned up’ as Emma’s been calling it to piss Regina off and she’s looking forward to seeing a return of the hideous leather jacket that Emma somehow manages to pull off.

 

“I’m in mourning,” she says. “Obviously.”

 

Kathryn finds them, hair pulled so tightly back so that a vein on her forehead pulses and dressed in black. “Stop flirting, you two,” she says, “and get where you’re supposed to be.”

 

“Yes ma’am,” Emma says, saluting and Kathryn rolls her eyes.

 

“Regina, tell your girlfriend to behave,” she says and Regina feels that visceral thrill run through her at the word ‘girlfriend’.

 

They’ve got a small audience, a few students who stayed back for the weekend, mostly freshmen. It’s enough for now; Regina loves an audience and it’s been too long. The play begins, everything running mostly smoothly, which she’s sure is a bad omen, though she can’t bring herself to care.

 

Graham’s hamming it up more than usual and there are some freshman kids in the front row in fits of laughter. Regina should be annoyed with him but he knows his audience (he did the same when they did Midsummer last year) and he’ll pull it out on the day. Emma smacks her butt as she exits after her first scene, grinning at her when she hears Regina gasp slightly. Belle, Neal, Ruby and Killian are on stage but Regina can’t pay attention, mind on Emma’s hands and her lips.

 

And then Emma’s back, hair pinned back, giving it the pretence of being short. Her jeans are a smidge too tight and she’s wearing the jacket over a white tee-shirt. Regina’s reminded of that first audition, her playing Rosalind, with this sort of teenage boy swagger, and she knows for absolute certain in that moment that Dr Hopper is a casting genius.

 

*

 

“You were fantastic, Emma,” Mary Margaret says, hugging her when the cast have taken their bows for the small audience and Dr Hopper has spoken to them.

 

“You too!” she says, grinning.

 

“Celebratory cocoa?” she asks. Emma nods, hanging up the jacket and taking a make-up wipe to her face. The rest of the costume is her own clothing so she’s not too worried about wearing it out of rehearsals. Regina’s talking to Dr Hopper and she runs over, twining an arm around her waist.

 

“I’m getting cocoa with Mary Margaret,” she says. “We’ll be in the student lounge.”

 

Regina grimaces. “I have homework,” she says and Emma knows that while that’s part of it, Regina’s still not totally comfortable around Mary Margaret, that she sees the girl as the catalyst for breaking up David and Kathryn. “Come and see me after?”

 

“Okay,” Emma says. “See ya, Doc.”

 

The student lounge is nearly empty, as it usually is on weekends, people generally preferring to make their way to Granny’s. Mary Margaret’s costume is more extensive so Emma’s there first, and makes their cocoa, using the last of the milk and finding Mary Margaret’s supply of whipped cream.

 

Mary Margaret enters and collapses on a couch. Emma brings her cocoa over to her. “I’ll be glad when this show’s over,” she says.

 

“Really?” Emma asks.

 

“Yeah.” Mary Margaret sits up, takes a sip and sighs with pleasure. “I mean, I enjoy drama club but I kind of only auditioned for an acting role to spend time with David and look how well that turned out.”

 

Emma frowns. “Sorry.”

 

“It’s my own stupid fault,” she says. “I’m swearing off boys for a while.”

 

“Fair enough,” Emma says and she grins. “I’ve done that too.”

 

Mary Margaret rolls her eyes and, seriously, what is with all the people doing that to her today? “Quite a hardship, I’m sure,” she says. Mary Margaret was the first person Emma told about Regina and her; she’d been nervous about her reaction but fortunately Mary Margaret’s very much a live-and-let-live kind of Christian, unlike foster family five.

 

“It’s terrible,” she says. “No more axe body spray, no more farting contests, no more scratchy stubble…”

 

“Ha ha,” Mary Margaret says. “I can’t imagine being with Regina Mills is _easy_.”

 

Emma thinks. Regina is not easy; she wouldn’t want her to be really. She’s all sharp angles and biting sarcasm and tightly wadded anger. But she likes the softness underneath, the stuff that only someone who’s close to Regina gets to see. She likes that Regina’s possessive and has to win everything. She likes the sweep of dark hair that Emma’s hands are addicted to.

 

“Hey,” Mary Margaret says, waving a hand in front of Emma’s face. “Stop daydreaming about your girlfriend. You’ve got this tragically moony expression on your face.”

 

“Sorry,” Emma says, schooling her face into a more appropriate expression.

 

“So do you have plans for Thanksgiving?” Mary Margaret asks.

 

“I’m staying at school,” Emma says. She’d been trying not to think about it, the lonely days on campus, without anyone. She’d never been one for making friends but now that she has them, she doesn’t know what she’ll do without them.

 

“Only, I was thinking that you might like to come back home with me. I’m in Portland, so not far off.”

 

“Really?” Emma asks. “I wouldn’t be imposing?”

 

“No,” Mary Margaret says. “Ma and Dad invite all the extended family over. There’s always, like, twenty cousins and their partners and kids and friends. You’d be really welcome.”

 

“That’d be wonderful then,” Emma says, smiling. “I was so not looking forward to the holidays and now I can.”

 

“To be honest,” Mary Margaret says. “Regina suggested it.” She grimaces. “Actually, she kind of yelled at me and then invited herself over for the day after Thanksgiving.”

 

Emma laughs. “Sounds like Regina.”

 

Later, she returns to her room via Regina’s, knocks at the door and when Regina answers, already in her nightie, hugs her. “Thank you.”

 

“Okay?” Regina says, stiffening in Emma’s arms. She’s not good at hugs. She’s excellent at anything that has the potential to be sexual, but hugs are always awkward.

 

“Just, thanks,” Emma says, kissing her, and Regina softens into the embrace then. “For talking to Mary Margaret.”

 

Regina frowns. “No idea what you’re talking about,” she says, though her cheeks stain pink because, of course, Emma has caught her in a moment of sentimentality. Emma thinks she understands. They are neither of them very good with feelings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a bit of shameless fluff.


	12. Thou shalt live as freely as thy lord

Regina loves opening night, the smell of sweat and make up, the adrenaline racing through her veins. They’re playing for three nights and her parents are at this first performance. She takes particular care with her make-up; carefully flicking her eyeliner and curling her lashes before stroking them with so much mascara her eyelids feel heavy. She hates the thick foundation Ashley’s given her but the last thing she wants is to look shiny under the lights.

 

She’s slipping her feet into the heeled pumps when there’s a knock at the door. “Come in.”

 

Kathryn enters, hair slicked back in a ponytail and clip board under one arm. “Good luck,” she says. “I seated your mom and dad. Your dad says ‘break a leg’.” Regina notes that Kathryn has not relayed any message from her mother.

 

“And their guests?” Regina asks, closing her eyes, taking in deep breaths.

 

“Yeah,” Kathryn says. “Sorry. That Derek guy looks like a douche.”

 

“I knew they were coming,” Regina says, drawing lipstick onto her lips. “I wish it wasn’t opening night though.”

 

“You know this back to front and sideways,” Kathryn says. “You’ll be amazing. You are amazing.”

 

Regina smiles and hugs Kathryn. It’s a rare moment and Kathryn stares at her in confusion for a moment. “Thanks,” Regina says. “For being right about everything.”

 

“Can you write that down and sign it?” Kathryn jokes.

 

“I’ll deny it later,” she says and sweeps out, heels clacking on linoleum, ready to perform.

 

*

 

Emma hugs Graham when the curtain falls. “We did it,” she whispers. Something about the audience, the lights, and the costumes had just made it all come together for Emma. She didn’t think she’d ever acted this well. The whole cast had killed it.

 

Regina grins at her from where she’s standing with David. There’s still a certain level of discomfort around him but she’s managed to work past it on stage. The curtain rises again and they accept further applause; Emma’s face is sore from the grinning and she takes a flamboyant bow.

 

Finally, at last, they are set free to change and then head out into the foyer to catch up with family – or in Emma’s case, the cast. Regina finds Emma in the bathroom, scrubbing the thick foundation off her skin. She hates the feel of it, never wears make-up ordinarily. Regina grabs a wipe and attacks her own face, the make-up looking garish in the harsh fluorescent lights of the bathroom. Carefully, she reapplies a lighter shade of lipstick and with a surprising lack of reserve, strips off her dress and swaps it for one of her own. Emma eyes her toned stomach with some appreciation.

 

“God, you’re beautiful,” Emma says and is gratified to see the blush spread to Regina’s cheeks. She brushes her hair and coils it up, clipping it away from her head, before hanging up her dress and cheeking her complexion in the mirror.

 

Emma’s hung up the jacket and swaps the jeans she’s wearing for leggings and this hideous baggy sweater that Regina claims to loathe. Regina starts pulling pins from her hair, letting Emma’s curls fall free, and presses soft kisses into her hair and neck. Emma sighs, leaning back against Regina, feeling the press of her body against her own.

 

“You were outstanding,” Regina says, taking her hairbrush and running it through Emma’s locks.

 

“You stole the show,” Emma murmurs, and Regina laughs into her neck, the touch sending shivers down Emma’s spine.

 

“That was always my aim,” she admits. “I have to see my parents,” she adds. “See you out there?”

 

Emma nods.

 

*

 

Regina scans the crowd. It’s always valuable to find her mother before her mother finds her; it gives her a chance to start off correctly, ensure she’s not slouching or talking to an ‘undesirable’. She brushes at the skirt of her dress – one her mother purchased for her over the summer – and shuffles her left foot in its shoe.

 

She spots her father’s balding head first and waves. He comes over, smiling as though his face might burst. “Regina, _linda,_ you were wonderful,” he says. She knows he won’t have understood a word. He’s never been one for theatre, particularly not Shakespeare, though he attends all her performances religiously.

 

“Dad,” she says, hugging him and kissing his scratchy cheek. His suit jacket is rumpled. Mother complains that she can never take him anywhere. “I’m so glad you came. Is Mother around?”

 

He nods. “She’s with Lance and his son.” His face wrinkles in displeasure. “I don’t like that boy. He’s not good enough for you.”

 

Regina smiles, though inside she’s shaking. “Has there ever been a boy good enough for me?” she asks, voice light, and he shakes his head, though he’s smiling too.

 

She feels a hand clasp her arm and turns to see her mother, dark hair swept into a bun and a black dress (“black is slimming, dear,” her mother has said to her often, staring critically at Regina’s hips) that is definitely designer and probably cost more than Emma’s entire wardrobe. “Well done, dear,” her mother says, kissing her cheek. Her lips feel dry against her skin. “A most interesting show. You remember Lance and Derek, of course?”

 

Regina shakes Lance’s hand and accepts his congratulations and nods at Derek. “I’m so glad you enjoyed it,” she says.

 

“Regina was the assistant director,” her mother says. “Which is why her role was smaller.”

 

Regina finds she’s annoyed by this comment – it’s not as if Olivia is a bit part, for starters. She knows this is hypocritical; she’s used that same justification a thousand times. Kathryn would see this as a sign that she’s growing as a person, maturing and self-actualising (her latest thing, since breaking up with David). “Actually,” she says. “Olivia suited my acting skills better. I thought Emma was a phenomenal Viola.”

 

Her father grins. “I understood her better than most,” he says.

 

“Hardly a believable boy,” Derek says and Regina wants to punch him in the face, which is sure evidence of Emma Swan rubbing off on her.

 

“I think you’ll find there’s something called ‘suspension of disbelief’,” Regina snaps. The hand on her arm tightens.

 

“Regina, dear,” her mother says. “Introduce me to your cast, won’t you?”

 

Accepting the inevitable, Regina escorts her mother away from the safety of the group. “I am disappointed in your rudeness,” her mother says, her hand now tight enough that Regina will not be surprised to find bruises tomorrow.

 

“I’m sorry, Mother,” Regina says. “It’s been a long night.”

 

“Perhaps you should give up this drama business if you cannot retain your manners,” she says and Regina feels panic constrict her throat. Her mother has often made this threat, knowing its efficacy. Regina would never give up the best thing in her life.

 

“Mrs Mills! How are you?” Regina has never been so grateful to see Kathryn in all her life.

 

“Kathryn, dear,” her mother says, finally releasing her arm in order to hug Kathryn, who mimes deep breaths at Regina over her mother’s shoulder. “How are your parents? We must have dinner.”

 

“Dad was saying that the other day,” Kathryn says, smiling. She briefly meets Regina’s eye. “How’s the hospital?” Regina’s mother is on the board of one of the hospitals in Portland.

 

“Very well,” she says. “Actually, there’s a fundraising dinner next weekend. You and Regina should come. Bring David.”

 

Kathryn’s smile falters. “David and I are no longer a couple,” she says and Regina sees her mother frown.

 

“Well, dear, he was obviously not good enough for you,” she settles on saying. It’s an awkward sentence because Regina and Kathryn both know how much Mother _loves_ David, loves David and Kathryn’s relationship and wishes for Regina to have exactly the same thing. If Mother could clone David, Regina’s pretty sure she would.

 

“Didn’t you want to meet the cast?” Regina asks and looks around for someone for her mother to scrutinise. Of course, the first person she sees is Emma, laughing at something Mary Margaret has obviously said, grin wide and undignified.

 

“Introduce me to Miss Swan,” her mother says, _of course_.

 

Emma looks over and smiles and it’s so fucking obvious that she has a thing for Regina. It’s written all over her face. Regina waves, mouthing ‘sorry’ behind her mother’s back. “Mother, this is Emma Swan.” Mary Margaret pretends to spot someone at the opposite side of the room and takes off. Regina wishes she could follow her.

 

Her mother extends her hand and Emma raises an eyebrow but after a second’s hesitation (a second too long, Regina thinks) clasps it and shakes. “Pleasure to meet you, Ms Mills.” Regina grimaces at ‘Ms’. Her mother hates that and Regina should have told Emma but she’d obviously been living in a fairy tale world where her mother and Emma would never meet.

 

“An impressive performance,” she says. “Are you planning to pursue acting as a career?” Her mother says, her lip curling into a sneer. Here it goes, Regina thinks. The inquisition.

 

Emma snorts a laugh. “No,” she says. “I have no desire to, like, make coffee for the rest of my life.”

 

“So what are your plans then? Community college?” Her mother raises a calculated eyebrow and Regina hates that they share mannerisms, that Emma will possibly be able to see Regina in this woman she loves and fears.

 

“Actually,” Emma says. “Northeastern, hopefully, or Boston University. Then we’ll see.”

 

“They’re good schools,” her mother says, surprised.

 

“I’m a good student,” Emma says and there’s a note of challenge in her voice. She tosses her curls and her jaw tightens.

 

“Forgive me but doesn’t my daughter tutor you?”

 

“Mentors, actually,” Emma says.

 

“I see no difference,” her mother says.

 

“No,” Emma says. “I suppose _you_ wouldn’t.”

 

“Best of luck with your endeavours,” her mother says and there is ice in her voice.

 

“See you later, Regina,” Emma says, smiling at her. “Nice to meet you Ms Mills.”

 

“Likewise,” her mother says. When they are just barely out of earshot, she says, “what a rude girl. Though of course with her background…”

 

“I didn’t think she was rude,” Regina says.

 

“Yes, well, you’re in love with that trash, aren’t you?” her mother says, lips pursed. “There’s no future there.”

 

Regina sighs. “I don’t care.”

 

“I’m disappointed,” she says. “We will talk about this next weekend before the fundraising dinner.”

 

“I can’t come to the dinner next weekend,” Regina says. “You can’t spring these things on me without any notice. I have too much work to do.”

 

“You _will_ attend,” her mother says.

 

Regina remembers Emma saying ‘she doesn’t have any power over us’ and it makes her feel bold.

“Just try and make me,” she replies. “I’ll get myself an internal suspension and to hell with my permanent record.”

 

“Your father will hear about this, about all of this,” her mother promises, her lips pursed, sour-faced as though sucking on a lemon. Regina remembers the summer, when her mother had found out. She’d reminded Regina of her father’s conservatism, his traditional values. “Once a Catholic, always a Catholic,” she’d said. “He voted for Romney,” she’d said.

“Henry, we’re leaving,” she barks and strides to the door, pulling Lance and Derek with her.

 

Her father comes over and hugs her, her mother tapping her foot at the door. “I’m so proud of you,” and Regina’s heart nearly breaks.

 

“Thanks, Dad,” she whispers. You might not be if you knew. She wills the words out but they don’t come. Dad, I’m gay. Dad, I like a girl and she makes me really happy. Emma might have made her bold, but she hasn’t made her that brave.

 

When her parents and their guests have safely left, Regina lets herself look for Emma, spots her chatting to Graham. She approaches, puts an arm around her neck, pulling her close, and kisses her, ignoring catcalls she suspects come from Ruby and Graham, ignoring the fact that now there’s no hiding, no pretending. “No offence,” Emma says. “But your mother is awful.”

 

Regina rolls her eyes. “Hasn’t anyone ever told you not to insult people’s mothers, Swan?”

 

“Sorry,” Emma says, unrepentant. “Bad upbringing. Total trash.”

 

“You heard?” Regina asks.

 

“Heard you defend me,” Emma says. “And felt you kiss me in front of half the school, so we’re good. Your mother and I, we’ll be having words someday.”

 

Regina laughs, the tension that has been twisting up inside of her dissipating.

 

It’s much later that she remembers her mother used the word ‘love’. She doesn’t know what to do with this information but she files it away in her mind, between Emma’s smile and her scent and the sound of her voice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nearing the homestretch - at this stage one more chapter though it could stretch into two. We'll see.


	13. Having sworn truth, ever will be true

  ** _Twelfth Night: “Most wonderful” Student Production_**

_Storybrooke Preparatory School is known for its excellent school shows and ‘Twelfth Night’ is one of the best this reporter has ever encountered. Set vaguely in the present day, costumer Ashley Boyd has used costumes to create an impression of character, rather than a particular time period; Olivia’s costume is reminiscent of Audrey Hepburn and Jackie O, while Viola could be a 1950s Teddy Boy and Orsino is a modern hipster. The staging and lighting is all excellent._

_It is difficult to believe this is a cast of high school students. The acting is universally superb and they have been ably directed by Dr Archie Hopper and assistant director, senior Regina Mills. Emma Swan carries the show as Viola/Cesario, playing the boy and girl roles with aplomb and making Shakespeare sound straightforward and conversational. Graham Humbert is an excellent infatuated Orsino, managing to be likeable in his ridiculousness. Regina Mills is a stand-out as Olivia; at once seductive and lovesick. Her chemistry with Swan is sizzling._

_In the more minor roles, Sidney Glass’s Malvolio is appropriately obsequious and Killian Jones plays the ridiculous Sir Andrew to great effect. Ruby Lucas’ Feste is appropriately cerebral and creepy, a part that works well gender flipped. All the cast, too many to name here, should be proud of their accomplishments._

_This reporter left the play humming the melancholy tunes performed adeptly by Ruby Lucas and regretting that Olivia and Viola did not end up together._

_\-- The Storybrooke Mirror_

The play is over. Of course, there has been no special dispensation for cast members in regards to homework, tests and so on, so Emma has been flat tack, frantically studying for four tests, writing an essay for Gold and answering pages of math problems that have been building up.

 

She complains to Regina as they study together in the library after class on Tuesday. “So much work,” she whines, slumping down in her chair.

 

“Shut up,” Regina says. “I’m trying to study.”

 

“Uuungh,” Emma moans. “So bored.”

 

“Consider how much more bored you’ll be in detention when you don’t hand in an essay to Gold,” Regina suggests, not lifting her eyes from her books. Her forehead is creased in concentration. Emma quashes her desire to move around the table, undo the tight braid in Regina’s hair and kiss her concentration away.

 

She’s silent for a time, scribbles down another paragraph of her essay. “Heard from your mother?”

 

“No,” Regina says and her shoulders tense. It’s been five days and Emma knows Regina’s been on edge, waiting for an attack that Emma’s still not totally convinced is going to come. But then, as Regina has only barely resisted pointing out, Emma doesn’t really understand family dynamics in general, let alone the convoluted subtleties of the Mills family.

 

“It’ll be all right,” Emma says, nudging Regina’s ankle with her foot.

 

Regina ignores her, making notes from her text book in her neat, cramped style. When they leave the library at ten o’clock closing though, she nuzzles against Emma, insinuating her way into the crook of her arm so they’re walking back to the dorms with Emma’s arm wrapped around Regina. It’s dark, the hall lights dimmed, and Emma thrills in the feel of Regina’s warm body against hers.

 

“Three days till the weekend,” Emma says at Regina’s door and kisses her, feeling Regina’s lips, slightly chapped, on hers. There’s a cast party to celebrate the play at Killian’s family home in Storybrooke – his parents are perpetually absent so apparently his place is party central – and Regina’s planning to take Emma on their first date at some point over the weekend too, though she’s being cagey about the details.

 

“I can do three days,” Regina says. Emma knows she won’t be going to bed like Emma is planning (via the internet and her book) but will stay up another two or three hours studying and will wake at some god-awful hour of the morning to keep going.

 

“Night,” Emma says.

 

“Good night, dear,” Regina replies and closes the door.

 

*

 

Regina’s phone rings as she’s about to leave for class on Wednesday morning. She picks it up, answering without looking. “Regina Mills,” she says.

 

“Regina, it’s your father,” and Regina freezes, throat tightening. “I’m in Storybrooke on business. I would like to take you for lunch today if you aren’t too busy.”

 

He can’t know. He mustn’t know or there's no way he would have called. “Of course I can make time,” Regina says. “I’ll meet you at the school office at one.”

 

She can’t concentrate in Calculus and Physics passes as a blur. She’s glad she doesn’t have English Lit today; Kathryn’s concerned glances in Calculus are bad enough but she thinks she’ll say something she regrets if Emma pushes her. “Tell Emma I won’t be at lunch,” she says.

 

Kathryn nods and touches her arm. “Don’t be nervous,” she says. “But maybe you should just tell him. Then your mom can’t hold it over you.”

 

Regina nods. They’ve talked about this before but before Regina’s never had a reason. It’s not like she’s been in a relationship before – even one only lasting all of two weeks – so why upset people unnecessarily? But now there’s Emma and Regina wants to talk about her _all the time_. “I’ll see,” she says.

 

Her dad’s waiting at the office and signs her out. “Granny’s?” he asks. The rare times he’s in the area for business and they get lunch, they go to Granny’s because Mother’s currently against trans fats and Dad really likes the occasional greasy burger on the sly. Settled into a booth, they order and her dad asks how school is going.

 

“Well, I think,” she says. “I’m catching up on all the work I missed last week when my focus was on the play.”

 

“Good, good,” he says. “Your mother is well.” He fiddles with the packets of sugar in the jar on the table; turning one upside down and right ways up like an hour glass, over and over.

 

“Really?” Regina asks.

 

“She is always well,” he says, raising an eyebrow. “Did you have a fight on Friday?”

 

He doesn’t know. Regina steels herself. “Yeah,” she says. “Because, the thing is, I’m a lesbian.”

 

Her father is silent for a moment. She observes his face, the rounded cheeks, greying hair. His eyes are dark and serious and very like her own. “Okay,” he says finally.

 

“Okay?” Regina asks. “That’s it?”

 

“I don’t want to say anything that might inadvertently upset you,” he says. “This is not a conversation I had ever planned for.”

 

“What do you want me to do?” Regina asks, anger rising like a wave. “Stay in the closet? Date Derek or some equally insipid choice of Mother’s?”

 

Her father shakes his head. “So quick to anger,” he says. “Like Cora. This is not your issue, it is mine. I want to support you, but I don’t really know how.”

 

Her anger crashes. “Daddy,” she says and her voice shakes. “Just be there.”

 

“Okay,” he says and reaches across the table to take her hand. “I can try that.”

 

Their food arrives and her father tucks in, though Regina’s not especially hungry. Between bites of his burger, he explains that he’s buying out the Storybrooke shipping company. It’s the sort of stuff that Kathryn would find fascinating (she'd know instinctively exactly the right sort of questions to ask) but just confirms for Regina that dropping economics after freshman year was the right decision. She likes listening to her dad talk though; the lilt of his voice, the slight accent that thirty years of living in Maine hasn’t quite taken away from him.

 

He walks her back to school and, at the gate, envelops her into a hug. “I love you, Regina,” he says. “No matter what you do or are, I love you.”

 

It’s not perfect, but it’s more than enough.

 

Blue calls Regina into her office when she's signing back in. Regina sits across from her, still feeling kind of emotionally compromised and wishing she could just go to US History and bore herself out of her emotions. “How are you?” Blue asks.

 

Regina shrugs. “Fine, thanks,” she says.

 

“I had a call from your mother this morning,” Blue says. Regina really needs to stop feeling like puking and punching every time someone mentions her mother. It can’t possibly be healthy. “She wants me to forbid you and Miss Swan from seeing each other.”

 

Regina glares.

 

“I told her the school is not in the business of splitting up friendships without reason and that we trust our senior students to behave appropriately,” Blue continues and Regina has newfound respect for Blue, who she has often thought is a bit of a flake. “Unfortunately, I couldn’t do anything about her rescinding permission for you to leave school grounds.”

 

Regina understands. She refused a command of her mother’s. Of course she couldn’t have fun elsewhere. Of course she couldn’t get drunk and dance with her girlfriend at Killian’s parents’ mansion. Of course she couldn’t take Emma on their first date. She'd booked a restaurant, ordered flowers, the whole, soppy business. “Thank you,” she says. “May I go to class now?”

 

Blue writes her a note.

 

*

 

Emma knows something’s up when Regina doesn’t turn up to the library after classes. Gathering her books back up into her worn cloth bag, she makes her way to Regina’s dorm room. She knocks and no one answers so she knocks again. Finally, she hears the shuffling noise of Regina’s feet.

 

“What?”

 

“Hi,” Emma says. “Lovely to see you. Are you okay?”

 

“Awesome,” Regina says and it is a word that Regina so never says that Emma feels like laughing – although she suspects that the situation is really too serious. “Why do people keep asking me that?”

 

“Because you look like you’re going to murder someone,” Emma suggests. “Like, not in a bad way,” she adds when Regina’s glare intensifies.

 

“I’m very busy, Swan,” Regina says.

 

“Oh my God,” Emma says. “Get your coat; we’re going to Granny’s. You need coffee stat.”

 

“I can’t,” Regina says and Emma thinks she understands.

 

“Your mother got to you, didn’t she?” she asks, fists clenching.

 

“Mother’s rescinded her permission for me to leave school grounds,” she says. “I had lunch with Dad today. He knows about me now and he’s okay, I think, but Emma, I haven’t been alone all day and I just need…” She looks like she might cry, taking in a sharper breath, shaky and uneven.

 

“All right,” Emma says. “I’m coming by at seven and we’ll go to the dining hall together and if you’re still freaking out then I’ll leave again. Okay?”

 

Regina nods. Emma goes to her own room, almost alarmed at how empty she feels without Regina by her side. It’s been two weeks. Almost three, but who’s counting? She shouldn’t feel so… attached. There’s no rhyme or reason to it. She picks up her phone, dials Kathryn. “Hey,” she says. “It’s Emma. I need your support with something.”

 

At dinner, Regina is quiet, letting Emma and Kathryn do all the talking, though that gets strained on occasion because they don’t really know each other that well and there’s only so long they can talk about the show or English Lit. After dinner, Emma insists they get cocoa in the student lounge.

 

“My fifth foster family took me to church,” Emma says. “It was one of those weird, culty ones where everything is a sin. It’s pretty shit when you’re eleven and you’ve got a massive crush on your music teacher and some guy on a pulpit is telling you in thrilling detail about how that means you should go to hell.”

 

“Why are you telling me this?” Regina asks. She has her cocoa cupped in her hands, but has been staring into the chocolate liquid rather than drinking it.

 

“Because you’ve told me a lot of things these past weeks,” Emma says. “And I’m very aware that I haven’t returned the favour. My first foster family gave me up because she got pregnant and they didn’t want me anymore.” She keeps talking, telling Regina these secrets, these stories that she doesn’t tell anyone.

 

Somehow, with Regina, it’s easy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, yeah, so one more chapter. Thanks so much for the continued positive response - I am really very grateful.


	14. Most Wonderful!

“Have you settled back into a routine after the production?” Dr Hopper asks. This time, there’s soft instrumental music playing in his office that Emma suspects he considers calming. Or perhaps he just likes it. Emma should stop judging. She’d always thought of more of a 60s pop-rock kind of guy.

 

“Yeah,” Emma says. “All under control. Regina’s been studying super frantically. I don’t think I’ve done this much work for school in my life. At this rate, I’ll end up getting into Harvard too.”

 

“Good,” Dr Hopper says. “And there haven’t been any negative consequences for Regina going public as it were?” He’s referring to Regina kissing her in front of the crowd of parents, students and castmates after opening night. Emma kind of wishes he’d just come out with it.

 

“Nah,” Emma says. “Not at school anyway.” She knows there’s gossip going around, sees the occasional dirty look pointed her way in the corridor, conversations that stop when she enters a classroom, but nothing she cares about.

 

“But outside of school?”

 

“You might want to talk to Regina about that.” Emma shifts uncomfortably in her seat.

 

“I have in the past,” Dr Hopper says. “I promised her then that I would never _make_ her come to me. I know she’s had her off-campus permission revoked.”

 

“She’s having a tough time with her mother because of me,” Emma admits. “I don’t really know what to do.”

 

“Firstly, it's not because of you, it's because of her mother. I suggest you let her handle it,” Dr Hopper advises. “And be supportive of whatever she decides.”

 

“I told her some of the stuff about my foster families,” Emma says. “Stuff I haven’t told anyone before.”

 

“That was a very brave thing to do,” Dr Hopper says. “Do you want to talk about that with me?”

 

“Just,” she says. “I’m pretty sure it’s fucked me up for life.”

 

“What about our childhoods doesn’t?” Dr Hopper says, smiling. “My parents were con artists, sold false insurance policies to vulnerable people. Look where I turned up. We make choices, Emma. Make sure you’re making the ones that will make you happy.”

 

“I think I’ve started to,” she says and can’t help the smile that spreads across her face. They sit in companionable silence for a moment, the late afternoon sun shining through Dr Hopper’s office window and lighting up the dust rising from his desk.

 

“What are you like as a singer?” he asks.

 

Emma shrugs. “Decent enough. I’m getting A’s in music and it’s definitely not because of my guitar playing. Why?”

 

“Contemplating musical choices,” he says, smiling again. “We’ve hooked you, right?”

 

“Might’ve done. You’d best be choosing something made for Regina,” she adds quickly. “I can’t take her ice queen routine again.”

 

Dr Hopper laughs. “Neither can I,” he admits. “I’ve got a couple of ideas.”

 

Regina’s waiting for her outside Dr Hopper’s office, having changed out of her uniform and into Emma’s favourite sweater, an over-sized woollen thing that probably cost hundreds of dollars and is soft like kitten fur. “Fancy seeing you here,” Emma says, weaving her way into Regina’s arms.

 

“Mmm,” Regina says, nuzzling Emma’s ear. “It’s shocking, isn’t it? It’s almost as though I wanted to see my girlfriend?” Emma still gets a bit of a kick hearing that word come from Regina’s lips.

 

“Did you talk to your dad?” Emma asks. Kathryn had suggested Regina contact him about getting her permission reinstated.

 

“I decided against it,” Regina says. “Mother’s liable to try something worse if I don’t take the punishment she’s meted out.”

 

“Sucks,” Emma says.

 

“Very eloquent, dear,” Regina replies, rolling her eyes. “Anyway, if I take this punishment she might let me visit ‘Mary Margaret’ for a day or two at Thanksgiving rather than keeping me holed up in the house, entertaining Yale and Harvard boys.”

 

Emma texts Kathryn surreptitiously. _Operation Panther back in action alas_. Kathryn’s reply, almost immediately, is: _terrible, terrible code name._ “Want to go to your room and make out a bit before dinner?” Emma asks, looking up at Regina and doing her best puppy dog expression.

 

Regina laughs. “Oh, twist my arm,” she says.

 

*

 

Regina’s resigned herself to the fact that there’s a cast party going on and she can’t attend. Dr Hopper emailed her that morning, suggesting that they meet to discuss next semester’s musical that evening and she agrees. Emma protests when she tells her this during their morning library session. “This blows,” she moans.

 

“I know but you’re going to the party,” Regina says.

 

“I could just not go,” Emma says.

 

“We’re spending the day together. I daresay I can survive an evening without you,” she says dryly, though as she says it she feels pathetically sad about this. She’s watched enough TV shows and movies to know analytically that couples are horribly cloying and attached in those first blissful months but she can’t help it. She feels hopelessly alone without her and, for someone who has always prided herself on her independence, this is an alarming prospect.

 

“We’re studying,” Emma says. “That’s not the same as dancing together.”

 

Regina relents on her plans to study in the afternoon because, after all, she can spend the evening doing that while Emma’s at Killian’s party (the possessive side of Regina worries about whether any of the boys will try anything – Killian always tried to cop a feel during the sword fight and she still doesn’t trust Neal entirely), and they spend the afternoon in Regina’s room, watching _Phantom of the Opera_ because Regina’s room, Regina’s rules, even though Emma really wanted to watch _The Avengers_ for the millionth time.

 

She gets into it though. “I can’t believe you’ve never seen _Phantom_ ,” Regina says, laughing.

 

“They’re all such idiots,” Emma says. “Like, he’s slightly scarred on one side of his face. Oh my God, what a hideous monster. Kill him!”

 

“In the book he has the face of a rotting corpse,” Regina says.

 

“Sexy,” Emma replies. This happens to be the point where Christine sticks her engagement ring from Raoul around her neck, conveniently falling between the curve of her cleavage. “Because the Phantom’ll never notice it there.” Regina threads a hand through Emma’s hair, kisses her shoulder and neck. Her hair, washed that morning and still vaguely damp at the ends, smells of frangipani. “You’re weirdly obsessed with my hair,” Emma says, eyes still attached to the laptop screen. “Stop sniffing me like a creeper.”

 

“You’re awful,” Regina says, shoving her and Emma, not expecting it, topples sideways. Emma pulls her down with her, kisses her lazily and arches up, pressing herself into Regina’s body. For a moment, Regina allows herself to get lost in the sensations of Emma.

 

“Ah, sword fight!” Emma says and, still entwined with each other, they continue to watch. Regina’s never been more grateful that there is only a skeleton staff on weekends who spend most of their time patrolling the freshman and sophomore dorms and letting the seniors fend for themselves.

 

It’s dark out, sky deepening to velvety purple. “You’d better get going,” Regina says.

 

Emma shrugs. “I guess. I’ll pop in and see you when I’m back.”

 

“Stay the night at Killian’s,” Regina says. “I don’t like the idea of you wandering up here in the dark.”

 

“Aw,” Emma says. “Regina Mills, caring about my safety. Just a few weeks ago you’d have been sending minions to finish me off.”

 

“Mmm,” Regina says. “Burly ones. Are you wearing that?”

 

Emma looks down at her usual jeans and hoodie. “Yeah. Who’s going to be there for me to impress?”

 

“Good answer,” Regina says. “See you later.”

 

She watches Emma leave before picking herself off the floor and tidying up. She spends half an hour doing a couple of problems for Calculus before leaving to meet Archie. The Performing Arts Centre is dark. She fumbles for a light switch and here’s muffled shushing.

 

“Okay, what the hell is going on?” she asks, finds the lights and finds the whole cast and crew, ready to spring out and yell surprise.

 

“Well, that was a big fail,” Emma says but she’s grinning and holding two red plastic cups. “We didn’t think it was fair that the assistant director couldn’t party with the rest of us. Have a drink.” She holds out a cup to Regina who takes it, stunned.

 

“It’s sparkling grape juice,” Dr Hopper says, coming forward.

 

“We’re still going to Killian’s later,” Ruby adds. “I need to get my booze on.” Dr Hopper rolls his eyes at her.

 

To her embarrassment, Regina bursts into tears. It’s momentary but the look of horror on Emma’s face should be bottled. “I’m sorry,” she says, patting Regina's arm awkwardly. “I was trying to do something nice. I should’ve told you.”

 

Regina sniffs, taking the Kleenex Mary Margaret nervously proffers. “It’s lovely,” she admits. “I’m just crap at this.”

 

Jim and Sean start up the music and Emma pulls Regina onto the stage, where Ruby and Graham are already dancing in some ridiculously synchronised 1970s style and killing themselves laughing. Emma pulls her close, wrapping her arms around her waist. “Middle school slow dance?” she asks.

 

Regina buries her head into Emma’s shoulder, breathing in her scent, so indelibly Emma. Her hands are draped around Emma’s neck, her heart beating erratically in her chest. “Aw, David’s asking Mary Margaret to dance,” Emma says. “And she’s said yes! Yay.”

 

Regina looks over at Kathryn, who’s plenty occupied chatting to the boys manning the iPod. If Regina didn’t know better, she’d think Kathryn was flirting with Jim, a stocky junior with a shock of dark hair. She could do worse for a rebound, she thinks, smiling over at her best friend who waves back.

 

Later, she stands with Dr Hopper, watching Emma and Ruby and Mary Margaret dance, Emma’s arms wild and out of control. Every time she moves Regina gets a glimpse of her toned stomach under her too-short, too-tight tee-shirt. “This was a sweet idea,” she says.

 

“Blame Emma,” he replies. “She and Kathryn put it together.”

 

Regina smiles, keeps smiling as she catches Emma’s eye. Emma grins, waggles her eyebrows and does this little shimmer that is half-sexy, half-absurd. “So, the musical?” she asks.

 

Dr Hopper grins. “I was wondering when you’d bring that up,” he says. “I have a couple of thoughts and I wanted to run them by you.”

 

“Go on,” Regina says. “Fair warning, if the lead’s some sappy soprano I will not be responsible for my actions.”

 

“How do you feel about _Chicago_?” he asks.

 

Regina just stares at him.

 

“I know Velma’s co-lead, but she has more numbers and her songs are made for your voice and I can’t help but think that you and Emma would be a brilliant double act. If you’re not happy…” He trails off.

 

“Are you kidding?” Regina says, face breaking into a smile. “Let’s do it.”

 

Dr Hopper grins. “I was so hoping you’d say that.”

 

Ashley passes by with drinks. “Oooh, the costumes’ll be _fun_!”

 

Regina leaves Doctor Hopper, racing over to Emma who is now attempting a moonwalk. It’s not going well. “Emma! _Chicago_!”

 

Emma raises her eyebrows. “Okay.”

 

“The musical? You’ve never seen it either? You ingrate,” Regina says.

 

“Not all of us grew up in Fancypants Land, Maine,” Emma says, rolling her eyes.

 

“No, but Swan, it has Catherine Zeta-Jones in it. Her singing ‘All That Jazz’ made me realise I was a lesbian.”

 

“You are so gay,” Emma says.

 

“Yeah? Duh.” It’s Regina’s turn to roll her eyes.

 

*

 

The rest of the cast have started the trek to Killian’s and phase two of Operation Panther is about to begin. “You don’t want to go?” Regina asks.

 

“Nah,” Emma says. “Pretty tired.” She makes a show of yawning. “Want to walk me back to my room?”

 

Regina raises an eyebrow. “Okay.”

 

At the door, she kisses her and when Regina moves to leave Emma grabs her arm and stops her. “Come in for a bit.”

 

It doesn’t take much – a quick flash of her puppy dog eyes – to get Regina to relent and they enter the room. “Oh, Swan,” Regina says, smiling so hard her face looks like it might split in two. Emma’s desk has been set up like a table in a fancy restaurant, fake candles casting a flickering glow over the red checked table cloth that Emma pilfered from the props cupboard.

 

Emma pulls out a chair and gestures for Regina to sit. There’s a thermos of cocoa and Emma can smell apples and cinnamon wafting from the pie she had Ruby bring up from Granny’s in the centre of the table. The cocoa, when poured, is closer to lukewarm than hot but Emma squirts so much cream on top it doesn’t really matter and she passes a mug over to Regina.

 

“So,” Emma says, when they’re seated and she’s taken a sip of cocoa. “What do you do for fun? Is that a first date question? I’ve never been on one before.” She’s inexplicably nervous, stomach churning and hands clasped around her mug to stop them from shaking.

 

Regina laughs. “I like that you think I have any experience in this field whatsoever.”

 

“But you’re a sophisticated, urbane woman of the world,” Emma says. “That’s what _Seventeen_ magazine tells me, based on your clothing choices.”

 

Regina looks down at her outfit. She’s wearing leggings, ballet flats and a well-worn shirt dress. “What is wrong with you?” she asks.

 

Emma assumes this is rhetorical. “Pie on plates or dig in?” she asks, answering her own question by shoving her fork into the middle of the pie and scooping out a lump of apple and pastry.

 

“ _Seventeen_ magazine tells me that you are a total slob,” Regina informs her but she takes a delicate forkful from her side of the pie plate. They demolish half a pie like this.

 

“Phase two of the date was going to be a movie,” Emma says. We were going to set my laptop up at one end and watch _The Notebook_ and sit at the other end and make out like we're at the back of a movie theatre and occasionally I would move forward and give you a dirty look and shush you.”

 

“Or,” Regina says, grinning wickedly. “Since we’ve already watched one movie today we could just make out.”

 

“God, I love you,” Emma says, grinning back and standing up, the half-empty pie plate clattering against the desk. She drags Regina over to her bed and sits down.

 

Regina’s still, standing in front of her, hands at her sides. “Did you mean that? Do you really love me?”

 

Emma pulls Regina’s body towards her so that she’s standing nestled between Emma’s legs. Emma looks up at her, their bodies flush together. Logically, she knows it’s too soon. Logically, she knows that they won’t be together forever because who even stays with girlfriends from high school? Logically, she should hold back, weather a few storms before making dangerous, heart-breaking statements. But, to hell with that. “With adoration, fertile tears, with groans that thunder love, with sighs of fire.” Her fingers trail down Regina’s back, teasing.

 

Regina’s silent for a moment, face still as though carved in stone. “I love,” she says, and cuts off, kissing Emma fiercely, pushing her down on the bed, pressing the curve of her body against Emma’s, winding her hands through Emma’s hair. She nips and kisses at Emma’s neck and sucks the very breath out of her with her kisses.

 

“Not fair,” Emma says, between gasps. “I quoted Shakespeare at you.”

 

“So did I,” Regina says and then there is no talking at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Firstly, I tried to get this written and up sooner but it's been crazy busy at work and I've had my cousin staying so I've finally had a chance to edit now. I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Secondly, thank you so much. I have loved comments so much and they've really made me want to keep writing.
> 
> Thirdly, anyone got any AU prompts? I've tried writing to canon and it's always crappy and half-baked but I seem to be able to do AU.
> 
> Finally, I am vaguely writing a connected-epilogue-y story for this because I can't get enough of fluff and sap apparently. It's totally self-indulgent.


End file.
